ONE    IMMORTALITY 


IJNTV,  OP  CAUF.  T.TRTIAHY.  T  OS  ANGF,T,ES 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA   •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

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MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


ONE 
IMMORTALITY 


BY 

H.   FIELDING   HALL 

AUTHOR  OF   '  THT  INWARD  LIGHT,'   KTC. 


Nein  fforfe 
THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

1909 

*dll  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1909, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  January,  1909. 


Xorinooti 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  <k  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


BOOK   I 
THE   WEST 


21.30316 


CHAPTER  I 

THERE  are  three  loves  that  make  and  keep  the 
world  —  the  love  that  binds  man  and  woman  into 
one  flesh  and  soul,  the  love  that  draws  families 
into  nations,  the  love  that  holds  the  world  to  God. 

Each  love  is  justified  in  its  own  Immortality. 

All  of  our  life  that  is  worth  the  living  is  the  ex- 
pression of  one  or  more  of  these  loves;  all  our 
religions  are  attempts  to  explain  them;  all  our 
hopes  are  in  their  immortalities.  Therefore  every 
story  that  is  not  confined  to  the  mere  trappings 
of  to-day  must  proceed  from  them. 

This  book  is  about  the  first. 


Venice  at  sunset,  and  a  ship  that  came  in  from 
the  open  sea. 

They  had  left  Trieste  that  morning,  and  all 
the  day  had  steamed  across  the  sunlit  sea.  Upon 
their  right  the  Dolomites  rose  up  to  peaks  of  snow, 
and  in  front  the  coast  of  Italy  grew  more  and  more 
distinct.  A  mellow  haze  lay  on  the  land  and  gave 

3 


4  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

it  sleepiness  and  an  air  of  rest  in  contrast  to  the  ever- 
moving  sea.  And  in  the  sunset  they  came  near  to 
Venice. 

At  first  they  saw  the  long  low  island  of  the  Lido, 
and  behind  it  the  tops  of  towers  and  campaniles, 
clear  against  the  sky;  but  soon  the  ship  passed  into 
the  channel,  and  across  the  broad  lagoons  the  city 
stood  revealed. 

Who  shall  picture  Venice  thus  seen  beneath  the 
sunset  glow  ?  She  seemed  no  city  built  of  men, 
but  rose  from  out  the  sea  as  Aphrodite  rose;  her 
palaces  and  churches  were  made  not  of  marble 
nor  of  stone,  but  as  if  grown  as  pearls  grow,  under- 
neath the  waves.  She  was  a  sea-shell  cast  upon 
the  shore;  the  dying  sun  made  pink  and  purple 
glories  on  her,  it  turned  the  still  lagoons  to  lakes 
of  molten  gold. 

They  came  still  nearer,  passing  the  gardens  where 
the  trees  still  held  their  autumn  leaves,  and  then 
moved  slowly  to  before  Saint  Mark's. 

The  great  piazza  opened.  They  could  see  the 
wonderful  cathedral;  its  bronze  horses  in  the  glow 
were  almost  living.  The  campanile  pointed  like  a 
finger  to  the  heavens.  The  steamer  nearly  stopped. 
They  looked  —  they  looked  into  the  hollow  of  the 
shell.  The  great  chamber  where  its  heart  was  wont 
to  live  was  filled  with  lustrous  light  and  living  shadow; 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  5 

the  Grand  Canal  glowed  like  a  shining  way  that  led 
to  heaven. 

So  to  see  Venice  is  to  see  her  in  her  majesty  and 
truth  —  to  see  her  as  her  sons  were  wont  to  see 
when  they  returned  from  voyage  or  victory;  as  am- 
bassadors of  foreign  kings,  who  came  to  bring  her 
homage,  saw  her.  Of  all  cities  on  the  sea  she  is  the 
queen.  To  see  her,  then,  is  to  remember  her  for 
ever,  and  a  great  pity  comes  into  your  heart  that 
she  is  dead,  and  that  the  light  which  shines  from 
marble  and  from  window  is  but  lent  from  heaven, 
and  not  the  light  of  life.  She  lived  and  died,  and 
left  her  palaces  for  us  to  wonder  at  and  try  to  under- 
stand the  soul  that  built  them. 

'Surely,'  cried  a  man  upon  the  deck,  'it  was 
some  sacred  fire  within  their  hearts  that  made  her 
builders  what  they  were.  What  was  this  fire  ? 
What  was  their  secret  ?  What  are  the  secrets  of 
the  world  ?  What  is  it  makes  life  worth  the 
living  ?' 

He  raised  his  hat  in  reverence  and  in  question. 
Then  he  became  aware  of  one  that  answered. 

Beside  the  steps  a  woman  stood,  alone.  He 
could  not  see  her  face;  the  sunset  made  a  glory 
round  her  form.  She  might  have  been  a  spirit 
from  old  Venice  that  was  come  in  answer  to  his 
question.  For  she  raised  her  arms.  Yes,  she  had 


6  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

raised  her  arms  in  answer,  and  so  stood  motionless, 
looking  across  the  water. 

Then  the  ship  turned  away  and  passed  behind 
the  Church  of  the  Salute,  and  the  sunset  faded  in 
the  sky. 


CHAPTER   II 

Two  men  sat  dining  at  a  restaurant  in  Venice. 
The  place  was  gay  with  lights  and  people.  There 
was  the  constant  hum  of  voices,  the  sense  of  the 
presence  of  men  and  women  —  gay,  expansive, 
free  —  the  odour  of  meat,  of  wine,  of  flowers,  of 
humanity.  They  dined  for  the  most  part  in  silence, 
looking  on  the  scene.  Sometimes  one  made  a  short 
remark,  to  which  the  other  smiled  or  nodded.  They 
watched  their  neighbours  with  amusement.  They 
waited  for  the  time  to  talk,  when  the  more  serious 
business  of  dinner  was  over.  They  came  at  last  to 
figs  and  grapes,  and  one  remarked,  looking  across 
the  table : 

'  Have  we  not  met  before  ? ' 

The  other  shook  his  head.  'I,  too,  have  been 
thinking  so.  When  you  came  into  the  cabin  at 
Trieste,  and  said  you  were  my  cabin  companion, 
I  thought  I  recognised  you.  I  was  almost  sure. 
But  I  cannot  remember  where.' 

'Nor  I.  And  yet  you  seem  familiar.  You  talk, 
you  laugh  like  some  one  I  have  known.  I  know 

7 


8  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

not  where  nor  when.  I  do  not  feel  you  are  a 
stranger.' 

'No!     And  yet  where  was  it?' 

'I  cannot  think.  It  does  not  seem  that  we  have 
met.  You  have  not  travelled  in  any  steamer  I  have 
gone  by,  nor  have  we  been  in  the  same  station.' 

'No,  it  seems  not.  I  thought  your  name  might 
be  a  help,  but  it  is  not.  The  name  Captain  Warden 
awakes  no  memory/ 

'Nor  does  Holt  to  me/ 

'  Have  we,  then,  doubles  ?  Maybe  we  met  in 
some  existence  before  this/ 

They  laughed.  The  question  seemed  insoluble. 
Why  trouble,  then,  to  find  the  answer  ? 

'We  shall  remember  it  sometime.  Meanwhile,' 
said  Holt,  'let  us  suppose  the  answer  given.  We 
have  met,  no  matter  where.  We  know  each  other; 
even  if  not  true  of  the  past,  it  will  be  of  the  future. 
We  have  a  month  in  the  same  cabin/ 

'If,  then,  there  is  no  past,'  said  Warden,  'though 
I  am  sure  there  is  —  if,  then,  there  is  no  past,  let 
us  anticipate  the  future.  We  shall  be  friends, 
therefore  we  are,  and  have  been.  Time  can  be  read 
from  either  end/ 

They  laughed  again.  Whatever  the  past  had  held 
or  the  future  might  contain,  the  present  made 
them  friends.  They  felt  it.  That  which  we  feel 
requires  no  proof. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  9 

'Then  you  will  come  with  me  and  see  my  friends,' 
said  Warden.  'They  are  at  an  hotel  close  by.' 

For  answer  Holt  rose  up.  They  left  the  res- 
taurant and  walked  along  the  Grand  Canal. 

The  terrace  where  they  sat  at  coffee  gave  on 
the  Grand  Canal,  and  it  was  half  in  shadow.  There 
were  no  lamps  upon  it  save  at  one  end,  beside  the 
stairs  where  the  gondolas  were  rocking.  But  from 
out  the  salon  doors  there  came  two  floods  of  light 
that  made  broad  pools  of  brilliance  on  the  marble 
flags.  Between  these  lakes  of  light  and  at  the 
farther  end  were  shallows  of  half-dark,  where 
things  and  people  were  but  indistinctly  seen,  and  in 
the  shadow,  close  to  the  balustrade,  were  Warden's 
friends.  They  were  a  Major  and  Mrs.  Holman. 
There  was  a  girl  who  sat  with  them,  but  she  was 
half  withdrawn,  leaning  upon  the  balustrade  and 
gazing  at  the  water.  She  hardly  moved  when  the 
men  were  introduced,  and  when  they  had  sat  down, 
Warden  by  Holman,  Holt  by  Mrs.  Holman,  she 
returned  again  to  her  watching  of  the  Grand  Canal. 

'We  saw  you  come,'  said  Mrs.  Holman;  'we 
were  returning  from  the  steamer  office  in  the  colon- 
nade, and  saw  the  ship  come  in.' 

'You  should  have  been  with  us,'  he  answered; 
'we  saw  the  city  under  the  sunset,  you  saw  but 


io  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

an  ugly  steamer.  We  had  the  best  of  it.  That 
is  the  way  to  come  to  Venice,  not  by  the  bridge 
and  station,  her  back  door,  but  by  the  sea,  her 
ancient  highway,  to  which  she  turns  her  face.  Only 
so  can  you  understand  what  Venice  was  —  and  is. 
She  is  a  city  of  a  dream.' 

'And  you  were  a  monster  coming  into  that  dream 
-  a  nightmare  with  your  straight  black  sides  and 
ugly  bows  that  broke  the  waters.  The  gondolas  and 
fishing-boats  fled  from  before  you;  and  even  when 
you  had  gone  you  left  your  stain  upon  the  sky,  your 
trouble  in  the  water/ 

'You  were  not  glad  to  see  us?' 

'No.  We  have  been  here  a  whole  enchanted 
week,  and  now  you  come  to  break  the  spell,  to 
end  our  pleasure.  The  ship  will  carry  us  away 
to-morrow.' 

'Yes,'  he  said.  'Yes,  our  dreams  have  all  awaken- 
ings. But  the  awakening  is  not  yet.  We  have 
still  a  night  and  day  of  Venice  and  of  Europe.  And 
to-night  there  is  a  serenade.' 

'Why  is  the  serenade?' 

'For  us.' 

'For  us?  But  why  for  us?  What  have  we 
done  that  Venice  should  be  glad  to  see  us  and  sere- 
nade us  ?' 

'She  serenades  the  arrival  of  the  ship,  and  as  it 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  11 

is  the  ship  we  shall  go  in,  it  is  our  ship,  and  there- 
fore we  may  take  ourselves  some  little  of  the  honour/ 

'And  all  the  pleasure.  But  why  should  Venice 
be  glad  to  see  this  ship  ?  She  is  not  great  nor  new, 
nor  even  an  Italian  ship.  Why  does  she  give  a 
serenade  ?' 

'Let  us  recall/  he  said,  'the  history  of  Venice 
and  you  will  understand.  She  was  a  sea  city,  born 
from  out  the  foam  like  Aphrodite.  The  murmur 
of  its  waters  were  her  cradle-song.  Its  tides  ran 
in  her  streets,  its  salt  was  in  her  blood.  She  turned 
her  back  towards  the  land  and  faced  out  seawards, 
for  from  there  came  all  her  strength  and  glory. 
Her  Doges  went  each  year  to  wed  the  ocean.  They 
placed  a  ring  upon  her  finger,  and  made  of  the  un- 
stable wave  a  faithful  mistress.  Over  the  water- 
roads  the  sons  of  Venice  sailed  to  wealth  and  glory, 
and  they  brought  back  to  their  city  all  they  found. 
They  took  her  fame  to  every  shore,  they  made  the 
East  her  own.  She  was  the  mistress  of  the  sea. 

'But  that  is  long  ago.  Venice  is  grown  old  and 
weak,  her  glory  has  departed.  She  sits  beside  the 
sea,  but  no  one  comes  out  of  the  sunrise  to  her. 
She  has  no  lovers  any  more.  She  is  forgotten,  and 
the  sea  knows  other  masters  that  have  been  born 
in  later  days.  No  galleons  come  to  anchor  in  her 
harbour,  and  her  water-streets  are  empty.  She  is 


12  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

old  and  poor,  and  men  recall  only  the  memory  of 
what  she  was.' 

'Poor  Venice,'  said  Mrs.  Holman.  'Poor  Venice, 
to  be  old  and  poor  and  yet  a  woman.' 

'Now  suddenly  she  thinks  she  feels  a  new  blood 
stirring  in  her.  She  hopes  once  more  to  send  her 
name  into  the  world,  to  say,  "I  only  slept,  and  am 
not  dead."  Her  sons  know  not  the  sea.  In  these 
later  days  she  has  wedded  with  the  land,  has  made 
an  iron  fetter  to  bind  her  to  the  earth,  she  a  sea 
city.  So  she  must  ask  a  stranger  to  come  and  help 
her,  a  neighbour  to  do  that  which  her  merchant 
princes  once  excelled  the  world  in.  This  is  the  be- 
ginning. The  ships  are  not  Venetian;  they  do  not 
sail  from  here,  but  only  call  in  passing  to  and  fro. 

'Still  it  is  a  beginning,  and  it  may  grow  to  much 
she  hopes.  She  will  be  once  more  in  touch  with 
the  world,  she  will  reawaken  her  memory  in  those 
who  had  forgotten  her.  Is  there  a  resurrection  ? 
She  hopes  there  may  be.' 

'It  is  pathetic,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'as  if  some 
beauty  of  a  former  world  were  again  to  deck  her- 
self with  jewels  and  come  forth  to  dance  and  sing, 
and  hope  that  her  lovers  would  return  to  her.  But 
her  old  lovers  are  themselves  all  dead,  and  the 
newcomers  know  not  Venice.' 

'Except  by  name   as   a  treasure-house  of  art,   a 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  13 

city  on  the  sea,  which  once  was  great  but  whose 
life  is  passed  away.' 

They  were  both  silent,  and  from  far  away  upon 
the  water  there  came  the  sound  of  music.  The 
stream  of  gondolas  that  passed  was  gay  with  coloured 
lanterns  hung  about  the  prows,  and  there  were 
strings  of  light  like  jewels  on  the  buildings.  The 
festival  was  beginning. 

'In  any  case/  he  said,  'we  benefit.  We  have 
the  serenade.5 

'We  have  our  benefit,  too,  in  other  ways,'  she 
answered.  'The  steamer  will  never  seem  to  me  quite 
the  same.  It  gives  her  a  romance  that  she  is  a 
messenger  from  Venice.' 

'A  Cupid  or  a  modern  Ganymede  asking  for 
loves  renewed,  or  for  new  loves  in  place  of  those 
grown  old  or  dead  ?  No,  nowadays  no  one  asks 
for  love  but  only  money,  and  that  is  all  she  goes 
to  seek.  Venice  to-day  wants  only  money,  not 
heroism,  glory,  love,  or  immortality.  We  are  a 
worthy  messenger.' 

'Yet  it  gives  a  colour  to  our  voyage.' 

'In  the  days  that  were,'  he  said,  'the  galleons 
went  to  seek  adventure.  They  cruised  into  new 
seas,  they  found  new  lands  and  peoples.  Who 
knew  what  Fate  might  bring  you  to  ?  But  now 
everything  is  commonplace,  we  know  the  seas,  the 


i4  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

coasts,  the  lands,  and  we  can  count  the  days  and 
hours.  There  is  nothing  for  us  to  find.' 

'No  Islands  of  Desire?' 

'No  Islands  of  Desire,'  he  said.  'They  sank 
beneath  the  waves  a  hundred  years  ago.  We  shall 
never  see  them  more.' 

He  thought  that  Mrs.  Holman  smiled.  It  may 
have  been  a  passing  light  that  threw  reflection  on 
her. 

'Amide!' 

The  girl  behind  her  moved  and  answered. 

'Shall  we  go  in  gondolas  and  hear  the  serenade, 
and  see  how  Venice  looks  at  night  in  all  her  jewels  ?' 
She  waited  for  no  answer,  but  called  to  Holman. 

'Order  us  gondolas,'  she  said.  'Two  gondolas. 
One  shall  take  you  and  me  and  Captain  Warden, 
one  shall  take  Amitie  and  Mr.  Holt.  Tell  her  of 
Venice,'  she  said  to  Holt.  'You  know  it  well,  I 
think/ 

He  turned  and  tried  to  see  across  the  dusk  this 
girl  who  was  to  be  his  companion,  but  she  had 
turned  again  to  watch  the  scene. 

'You  shall  tell  her  of  Venice.  She  shall  tell 
you ' 

'Of  what?'  he  asked;  'of  something  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  glad  to  know.' 

The  girl  was  looking  at  him  with   a  slight  sur- 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  15 

prise.  But  Mrs.  Holman  did  not  answer.  She 
led  the  way  down  to  the  stairs,  and  a  minute  later 
the  girl  and  man  were  in  a  gondola.  The  gon- 
dolier leant  upon  his  oar,  and  the  boat  shot  from 
out  the  still  eddy  into  the  moving  stream  of  boats. 
Her  bows  were  turned  to  the  Rialto,  and  they  were 
alone. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  night  was  full  of  magic.  Overhead  the  stars 
were  strewn  like  diamond  dust  upon  a  deep  blue 
robe,  and  Venice  wore  all  her  jewels.  They  were 
hung  in  stars  and  crosses,  ropes  and  festoons  of 
many-coloured  light  upon  her  palaces,  the  Lido 
gleamed  like  some  constellation  of  the  sea,  and  on 
the  Grand  Canal  the  ever-moving  lights  were  like 
a  necklace  laid  upon  her  bosom.  They  moved 
and  trembled  as  if  with  her  low  breathing. 

The  air  was  full  of  music.  There  were  bands 
that  played,  and  voices  of  men  and  women  singing, 
all  unseen;  their  melody  became  one  with  the 
night;  its  notes,  low-toned  and  sweet,  passed  softly 
on  the  water.  The  voices  of  the  people  in  the 
gondolas  made  a  continuous  murmur,  and  the  sea- 
wind  sighed  accompaniment.  And  underneath  there 
was  a  stillness  yet  more  clearly  heard  because  un- 
bearable. In  other  cities  there  is  always  an  under- 
tone of  sound,  of  horses  beating  on  the  stones,  of 
rattling  carriages,  the  harsh  tramp  of  feet  that  tread 
and  never  rest.  There  is  the  murmur  of  the  human 

16 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  17 

sea  that  never  wholly  sleeps,  there  is  an  echo  of  un- 
rest that  always  fills  their  streets. 

But  here  in  Venice  there  is  silence,  only  broken 
by  the  straining  of  an  oar  upon  a  rowlock  or  the 
splash  of  water  on  the  piles.  And  rippling  on  that 
silence,  like  a  laugh  on  a  still  sea,  there  is  an  all- 
pervading  melody,  so  faint,  so  sweet  it  touches  on 
the  heart.  It  draws  it  to  be  one  with  all  the  magic 
of  the  city  and  the  night.  In  Venice  you  can  sit 
and  dream. 

And  so  they  sat  and  dreamt,  forgetful  for  a  while. 
She  must  have  made  some  sound  or  moved,  for  sud- 
denly he  came  back  from  his  dream  and  he  remem- 
bered. He  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

But  in  the  gloom  he  could  not  see  her.  There 
was  against  the  dark  the  blur  of  a  white  dress  be- 
side him,  and  by  the  light  of  lamps  that  passed  in 
other  boats  he  caught  sometimes  the  gleam  of 
cheek  or  hair,  a  sudden  outline  and  no  more,  so 
quickly  gone  he  scarce  could  seize  it.  She  sat 
quite  silently,  and  looked  out  before  her.  She 
might  have  been  alone,  so  little  did  his  presence 
trouble  her.  Yet  she  was  close  to  him,  her  dress 
touched  his,  her  shoulder  was  so  near  the  least 
movement  would  have  placed  it  next  to  his,  her 
arms  were  crossed  upon  her  lap. 

He  wished  that  he  could  see  her,  and  the  wish 


1 8  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

with  wishing  grew  the  stronger.  He  desired  to 
touch  and  break  the  charm  that  held  her,  but  dared 
not.  And  he  felt  from  her  an  influence  that  stirred 
his  blood. 

Most  women  are  so  self-contained,  most  women 
are  so  cold  that  you  can  sit  by  them  and  hardly 
realise  a  woman  is  beside  you.  They  give  nothing, 
and  they  ask  for  nothing.  But  there  are  others 
who  send  out  some  unseen  influence  that  moves 
into  your  blood  and  makes  it  quicker,  hotter,  redder, 
and  throws  a  mist  into  your  brain.  They  give, 
they  ask,  but  what  they  give  and  take  I  know  not 
except  trouble.  They  give  you  fear  and  make 
you  tremble.  They  draw  from  out  you  life  and 
strength.  You  would  escape,  but  cannot.  They 
claim  you,  so  that  in  answer  and  defence  you  wish 
to  claim  them,  to  put  your  arms  about  them. 

In  the  charmed  night  the  magic  grew.  A  per- 
fume from  her  hair  drifted  across  his  face.  Do 
women  ever  realise  the  things  they  do  to  men,  and 
what  men  suffer  ?  You  do  not  put  a  starving  man 
beside  a  ripening  fruit.  When  men  had  blood 
within  their  veins  the  world  was  wary.  Now  they 
have  water,  and  - 

A  jolt.  A  gondola  that  came  from  out  a  side 
canal  surged  up  against  them.  The  gondoliers 
cried  one  to  the  other.  Then  they  moved  on  again. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  19 

'Do  you  know  Venice?' 

The  words  came  from  him  half-unconsciously, 
almost  a  cry,  so  sharp  they  seemed  across  the  silence. 

'No,  never.' 

'I  have  been  here  before,  but  never  long,  only 
enough  to  wish  for  more.  It  is  a  place  that  grows 
into  one's  consciousness,  that  gives  to  life  a  mean- 
ing it  has  not  held  before.  I  do  not  know  which 
is  better,  the  first  charm  of  strangeness  and  of  beauty 
or  the  love  which  grows  with  knowledge.' 

'  Could  you  not  tire  of  Venice  ? ' 

'Never,  if  once  you  loved  her,  for  she  is  of  infinite 
variety.  She  lived  a  life  that  had  a  colour  and  a 
meaning  which  is  never-ending.  The  more  you 
understand,  the  more  you  find  there  is  to  under- 
stand. You  rise  from  height  to  height.  And  there 
are  always  heights  beyond,  new  summits  that  are 
never  summits,  but  only  steps.' 

'I  think  also  I  should  not  tire  of  it.' 

'That  is  because  you  love  it  too,  and  so  have 
the  key  to  knowledge.  We  can  never  know  enough 
of  that  which  touches  us.  We  only  tire  of  things 
we  do  not  care  for.' 

'Do  not  you  think  we  learn  to  know  things  first 
and  like  them  afterwards?' 

He  shook  his  head.  'I  do  not  think  so.  No. 
Knowledge  is  not  the  key  to  everything,  certainly 


20  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

not  to  love.  But  love  is  the  key  to  knowledge,  the 
only  key.  You  feel,  and  then  you  understand. 
You  feel  the  charm  of  Venice,  and  you  learn  to 
understand  her,  little  by  little.  You  can  never 
tire.  We  only  tire  of  anything  when  we  have 
reached  its  end.  A  mystery  solved,  a  flower  plucked, 
a  reward  won  is  worthless  and  forgotten.  That 
can  never  be  with  Venice.  She  never  gives  her- 
self entirely,  she  hides  always  deeper  things  to  learn. 
She  never  shows  her  beauty  wholly,  but  she  keeps 
behind  her  veil  new  beauties.  Yet  she  is  not  strange 
in  that.' 

'In  what  way  do  you  mean  ?' 

'I  mean  that  everything  of  beauty  is  the  same. 
Do  you  remember  what  Keats  said  ? 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever, 

Its  loveliness  increases,  it  will  never 

Pass  into  nothingness,  but  still  will  keep 

A  bower  quiet  for  us  and  a  sleep, 

Full  of  sweet  dreams  and  health  and  quiet  breathing. 

No,  it  is  true  of  everything  whose  beauty  strikes  us.' 
The  girl  listened,  and  he  saw  by  a  light  that 
passed  that  she  looked  up  a  moment  to  him.  He 
would  have  caught  that  glance  but  for  the  dark 
that  came  again  and  hid  it.  Then  she  turned  her 
eyes  away  again. 

'Tell  me  some  more/  she  said,  'of  Venice/ 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  21 

'There  is  so  little  I  can  tell  you.  I  only  admire; 
I  have  not  yet  begun  to  know.  If  I  were  an  artist 
I  could  talk  of  her  art,  her  pictures;  if  I  were  an 
historian,  of  her  past  great  deeds ;  if  I  were  a  poet, 
of  her  romance.  But  I  am  none  of  these.  And 
indeed  to  me  Venice  is  more  than  all  these  things.' 

'  How  more  ? ' 

He  might  have  answered  that  Venice  is  as  a 
woman  is  to  him  who  loves  her,  more  than  her  hair, 
her  eyes,  her  skin,  her  jewels,  than  her  kisses  even. 
But  he  was  silent.  There  are  things  to  say,  and 
there  are  things  to  feel  and  never  say.  Never  to 
say  ?  There  are  times  to  speak,  times  to  be  silent. 
There  are  temples  where  the  tongue  is  tied  and  there 
are  groves  and  places  sacred  to  Diana.  We  must  all 
pass  through  these.  Then  we  may  come  to  other 
greater  temples  far  beyond,  where  tongue  and 
thought  is  free.  But  they  are  hidden  in  labyrinths, 
and  no  man  reaches  them  alone. 

They  came  to  the  Rialto  and  then  turned.  Before 
them  lay  a  river  of  bright  lights  that  moved  and 
trembled. 

'Tell  me  some  more/  she  said. 

'She  held  a  secret.' 

'What  secret  ?' 

'She  knew  how  to  be  young  and  strong,  to  live 
and  love  and  die  as  no  one  lives  or  loves  or  dies 


22 

to-day.  She  saw  in  life  a  something  that  it  lacks 
to-day,  something  that  made  it  worth  the  living. 
She  saw  things  worth  the  dying  for/ 

'And  to-day?' 

'Consider.  What  are  our  lives  to-day?  We 
are  become,  not  living  things,  but  parts  of  a  great 
world  machine.  We  live  no  longer,  but  we  turn 
for  ever  on  the  wheels  of  law  and  rule.  We  neither 
love,  nor  fear,  nor  hope,  nor  hate.  We  can  count 
our  days  and  years  and  all  the  emptiness  that  fills 
them.  We  think  that  we  have  conquered  nature, 
but  nature  has  conquered  us,  made  us  machines  and 
attendants  on  machines.  We  have  subdued  chance 
only  to  learn  that  chance  makes  all  the  value  of  our 
lives.  We  banish  fear  and  find  that  hope  has  gone 
with  her,  for  they  are  sisters  who  are  never  parted. 
We  live  much  longer,  but  within  our  years  we  have 
much  less  of  life.  We  put  off  death,  and  fear  him 
more  for  all  his  distance.  We  are  much  richer,  yet 
feel  always  poor.  We  strive  for  ever  to  gain  - 
nothing.  The  secret  of  life  is  to  know  how  to  live. 
What  is  that  secret  ? ' 

'They  knew  it  ?' 

'Surely  they  knew  it.     Look.* 

On  either  side  of  them  were  palaces,  upon  their 
right  the  Church  of  the  Salute,  and  before  them  rose 
the  Ducal  Palace. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  23 

'Men  who  built  like  that  felt  differently  from 
what  we  do,  they  regarded  life  and  nature  from 
another  standpoint.  They  worked,  not  to  make 
money,  but  because  they  loved  the  work  and  put 
their  soul  into  it.  They  lived,  not  because  it  was 
a  habit  and  they  were  afraid  to  die,  but  because 
life  was  good.  They  drank  it  like  a  wine  that 
made  them  strong.  Life  was  a  march,  a  triumph, 
that  moved  to  stirring  music.  It  was  a  dance, 
sometimes  a  danse  macabre,  always  a  dance.  It 
was  so  with  all  the  world  then.  You  see  its  tokens 
everywhere.  They  call  that  time  "the  Renais- 
sance." It  was  indeed  a  new  birth.  The  world 
grows  old  and  dies  and  then  is  born  again,  over  and 
over  again.  That  was  its  latest  youth,  its  latest 
love,  and  we  now  live  in  an  old  age.' 

He  wondered  why  he  talked.  It  seemed  she  had 
in  her  a  charm  that  brought  his  thoughts  to  words. 
He  spoke  not  for  her  but  for  himself.  She  listened. 

'And  more,'  he  said,  'yet  more.' 

'What  more  could  there  be/  she  asked,  'than  life  ?' 

'Something  beyond  life.  They  saw  or  thought 
they  saw  something  we  do  not  see  to-day.  They 
lived  not  only  for  the  day,  but  for  the  morrow, 
for  the  great  To-morrow.' 

'You  mean  they  were  religious,  and  we  have 
irreligion  now  ? ' 


24  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'Yes,  they  were  religious.  They  put  into  the 
creeds  and  forms  of  which  their  faith  was  shaped 
a  reality  of  life.  They  felt  and  understood  some- 
thing we  do  not  know,  something  that  can  never 
be  expressed,  that  is  like  life  and  makes  the  dead 
to  live.  It  comes  not  from  the  faith  itself  but  from 
the  believers  in  that  faith.  If  now  to-day  we  have 
no  living  faith,  it  is  our  fault.  If  we  had  spiritual 
life  within  us  we  should  soon  make  a  form  of  faith 
to  manifest  it  in.  The  fault  is  ours.  They  had  a 
hope.' 

'What  was  that  hope  ?' 

'  I  do  not  know.  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  have  it 
not.  No  one  has  seen  it  nowadays.' 

'Did  they  not  attain  it?' 

'They  could  not  have  done  so.' 

'Why  not?' 

'Because  anything  once  fully  obtained  is  no 
longer  valuable.  They  never  reached  it,  but  they 
saw  if  far  off  and  ran  towards  it,  confident  that 
sometime  they  would  do  so.' 

'Yet  they  failed?' 

'Perhaps  they  did  not  fail,'  he  said.  'It  may 
have  been  something  far  away.  They  may  have 
reached  it,  but  we  can  never  know.' 

'How  far?' 

'  Beyond  the  river,  on  the  other  side.' 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  25 

*  Beyond  death  ? ' 

'Yes,  on  the  other  side  of  death.  They  saw  that 
other  side  maybe.  We  do  not/ 

'You  make  me  sad,'  she  answered,  'as  music 
does  that  tells  of  things  we  never  understand/ 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  words  a  music  came  from 
some  who  sang  on  board  a  boat  that  passed.  They 
stopped  to  listen.  The  singers  sang  the  songs  of 
Italy,  those  songs  that  come  from  beauty  felt  and 
seen,  which  seeks  expression  to  another  sense. 
These  songs  are  gay,  gay  as  the  sunshine  on  the  vines, 
the  ripple  of  the  streams,  the  laugh  of  children  going 
home;  these  songs  are  sad,  as  passion  that  has  burnt 
and  passed,  as  skies  that  are  so  hard  they  cannot 
weep,  as  graves  beneath  the  vines.  They  haunt 
the  memory  with  their  echo,  and  their  sweetness 
lives  embalmed  in  sadness.  The  waters  lapped  a 
low  accompaniment.  The  singers  ceased,  and  they 
passed  on  again. 

They  passed,  but  not  the  same.  For  in  that 
music  there  had  come  communion  to  them.  The 
veil  the  darkness  hung  dividing  them  had  broken. 
A  sight  that  was  not  of  the  eyes  showed  each  to 
other,  and  they  had  touched  in  some  strange  sym- 
pathy. He  felt  that  he  returned  to  her  something 
of  the  trouble  she  had  given  to  him,  that  she  held 
something  that  was  his,  some  of  his  thought  had 


26  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

passed  into  her  life  as  he  felt  in  his  veins  a  warmth 
that  came  from  her. 

'Tell  me,'  he  said,  'this  afternoon  why  did  you 
answer  ? ' 

She  made  a  little  movement  of  surprise,  her 
hand  touched  his  and  was  withdrawn. 

'I  do  not  know,'  she  answered  vaguely.  'I  saw 
you,  what  you  did.  I  answered.  I  did  it  without 
thinking,  by  some  impulse.  How  should  I  know 
why  I  was  made  to  answer?' 

She  turned  from  him  and  dropped  her  fingers 
in  the  water.  'Can  you  not  tell  ?'  she  asked. 

'How  should  I  know  ?'  he  answered. 

'Because  I  answered  you,  because  you  made 
me.' 

Far  away  the  singers  sang  again. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THEY  landed  at  the  steps  before  Saint  Mark's, 
where  Warden  and  the  Holmans  waited  for  them, 
and  walked  together  to  the  square. 

There  were  many  people  there.  They  passed 
in  a  continuous  stream  across  the  front  before  the 
Ducal  Palace,  they  filed  along  beside  the  brilliant 
shops,  they  stood  in  rings  to  hear  the  music.  One 
band  was  playing  between  the  palace  and  the 
colonnade;  the  other,  the  great  orchestra  of  Venice, 
was  in  the  square.  The  campanile  was  between 
them,  and  when  one  played  the  other  rested.  The 
people  passed  from  one  to  other,  or  sat  at  little  tables 
that  the  cafes  placed  in  rows,  reaching  far  into  the 
piazza.  All  the  place  was  gay  with  light  and  colour, 
all  the  people  moved  and  laughed  as  if  the  beauty  of 
the  night  had  touched  them.  The  music  passed  into 
their  blood;  they  walked  as  if  their  spirits  danced, 
and  their  feet  would  fain  keep  measure.  Their 
footsteps  on  the  marble  flags  made  a  continuous 
murmur,  slow  and  pleasant,  quite  unlike  the  pur- 
ay 


28  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

posed  tread  of  business  cities.  The  rustle  of  the 
dresses  and  the  low  voices  blended  with  it  into  an 
undertone  on  which  the  music  rode  triumphant. 
The  whole  piazza  was  in  flood  with  sound  and  light 
that  filled  it  to  its  rim. 

They  came  to  Florian's  and  sat  down.  Holt 
looked  to  see  what  like  were  those  with  whom 
already  he  had  talked  in  darkness  or  half-dark. 

There  are  some  who  say  that  soul  and  body 
are  two  things,  the  soul  a  tenant  in  a  house  made 
ready  for  it.  Therefore  they  say  you  cannot  tell 
the  one  by  knowing  of  the  other.  They  are  two 
things  distinct,  bound  in  a  strict  partnership  that 
may  be  pleasant  or  may  be  sometimes  an  internecine 
war. 

And  there  are  others  who  declare  that  soul  and 
body  are  one  thing,  you  cannot  have  the  one  with- 
out the  other.  There  is,  in  fact,  no  soul;  that 
which  we  call  such  is  but  a  function  of  the  body, 
and  therefore,  if  you  know  one,  you  know  the  other 
all  in  all,  for  they  are  one. 

And  there  are  other  theories.  None  can  be  true, 
and  yet  there  may  be  truth  in  all. 

There  is  a  truth  in  this,  that  from  some  faces 
and  some  forms  experience  teaches  us  to  expect 
certain  ideas  and  thoughts,  and  so  instinctively  our 
estimates  of  persons  are  first  made  by  what  we  see. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  29 

And  though  in  time  we  modify  that  estimate,  it 
still  remains  a  dominant  factor  in  our  minds.  If 
so,  the  converse  must  be  true,  that  certain  tones 
of  voice,  of  thought,  lead  us  to  look  for  their  ex- 
pression in  the  face  and  form.  What  like  to  Holt 
were  Holman,  Mrs.  Holman,  and  Miss  Ormond  ? 
Though  he  had  scarcely  seen  them,  yet  their  words, 
their  thoughts,  their  unseen  presence  had  built 
within  his  brain  unconsciously  a  form  wherein  to 
occupy.  All  through  the  darkness  it  had  grown, 
now  in  the  light  he  looked  to  see  if  it  were  true. 
What  was  the  vision  of  the  Holmans  ?  What  was 
the  truth  ? 

A  woman  of  whom  the  first  word  and  the  last 
would  be,  'She  is  a  woman.'  She  was  not  beautiful 
nor  plain;  she  was  not  tall  nor  short,  nor  thin  nor 
stout.  Her  hair  was  fair,  her  eyes  were  blue. 

She  was  a  woman,  and  you  felt  when  you  were 
with  her  that  she  claimed  no  more,  nor  was  there 
more  that  any  one  could  claim.  She  was  a  woman, 
and  was  proud  of  it.  She  was  a  wife,  and  she  was 
happy  in  being  so.  She  was  a  mother,  and  her 
glory  in  her  two  little  sons  had  no  words  to  express 
it.  All  these  things  were  instinct  in  her.  You 
understood  from  the  beginning,  and  you  forgot 
them  never.  She  claimed  from  you  all  that  a 
woman  claims  from  all  men  —  deference,  kindness, 


3o  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

tenderness,  protection,  if  need  be.  And  she  would 
give  you  in  return  all  that  she  could.  Her  mind 
perhaps  contained  little  of  the  past,  but  she  saw 
and  felt  the  present  with  instinctive  truth.  She 
was  so  simple  and  she  was  so  complete,  that  voice 
or  thought  or  sight  said  always  the  same  thing. 

And  as  she  was  amongst  women,  so  was  he 
amongst  men  —  a  man. 

Of  the  two  there  was  this,  that  once  seen  together 
you  never  afterwards  thought  of  one  without  the 
other.  They  were  complete  together,  and  apart 
each  lacked  a  something  that  the  other  gave.  They 
were  two  sides  of  life  —  the  man  and  woman  that 
make  up  a  whole. 

They  were  a  book  to  read,  a  play  to  watch,  a 
harmony  to  hear.  Life  was  good  to  them,  and  as 
they  received  so  did  they  give  again. 

What  of  the  girl  ? 

When  in  the  darkness  he  had  sat  beside  her 
he  had  thought  of  her  indistinctly.  No  one  can 
describe  that  which  is  as  yet  a  possibility  only.  A 
picture  not  yet  painted,  a  poem  not  yet  written,  a 
Galatea  shut  within  her  marble  waiting  for  her 
creator,  a  sleeping  Beauty  waiting  for  the  Prince. 
Such  is  every  girl  to  every  unmarried  man.  They 
hold  within  them  greater  or  lesser  possibilities  of 
life  and  passion,  but  they  are  nothing.  Innocence 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  31 

and  purity  are  negative ;  beauty  requires  an  awakened 
soul  to  light  it. 

Fair  hair  with  gleams  of  red  and  gold;  still  eyes 
like  pools  —  those  eyes  that  take  and  do  not  give ; 
and  for  the  rest  —  a  girl,  that  which  some  day  will 
be  a  woman.  Such  did  he  see,  a  girl  such  as  Venice 
might  have  known  four  centuries  ago.  'Surely  she 
comes  from  the  far  past,'  he  thought. 

The  band  was  playing;  it  was  a  march  they 
played,  and  the  strong  music  rang  and  echoed, 
beating  against  the  palaces  and  church  in  waves  of 
martial  sound.  It  made  the  blood  run  faster  and 
the  heart  beat  quicker,  it  brought  into  the  mind 
memories  of  many  things,  it  woke  desires  and  in- 
stincts dormant. 

'But  it  wants  men,'  said  Warden;  'it  wants 
the  beat  of  soldiers  marching,  that  is  what  makes 
its  purpose.  A  march  is  music  to  which  men 
move.' 

'And  at  the  end  a  battle?'    asked  Mrs.  Holman. 

'Yes,  at  the  end,'  said  Warden.  'In  the  old  days 
the  music  went  into  the  fight,  but  not  so  now.' 

'We  have  made  war,'  said  Holman,  'a  matter  of 
pure  business.  We  have  sacrificed  everything  to 
what  we  call  efficiency.  That  is  our  mistake.' 

'Is  it  not  business  ?'    asked  Holt. 

Holman   shook   his   head.     'It   is   a  passion,   like 


32  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

all  other  forces  that  make  or  purify  the  world.  In 
the  end  the  victory  lies  not  in  the  coat,  the  gun, 
the  organism,  but  in  the  soldier's  heart.  The  nation 
that  first  learns  how  to  bring  back  the  music  to  the 
battle-line  will  sweep  the  world.  There  is  nothing 
to  beat  a  charge  or  stem  a  rout  like  music.  We 
knew,  but  have  forgotten.  We  think  men  are 
machines;  they  are  not.' 

Warden  nodded.  'I  have  seen  a  bagpipe  make 
men  go  where  no  one  would  have  thought  that  it 
was  possible.  War  is  an  art  and  not  a  business; 
the  greatest  leaders  are  they  who  know  this.' 

The  band  was  playing  again,  this  time  a  waltz. 
There  was  a  sadness  in  its  melody,  the  languor  of 
a  dream.  It  drew  the  strength  from  out  the  heart. 
The  tendrils  of  the  music  bound  the  thoughts  in 
warmth  and  drowsiness.  It  had  in  it  a  hint  of 
death. 

All  music  is  a  march,  a  dance,  a  requiem,  or 
between  them.  All  life  is  love  or  war,  and  ends 
in  death.  Love  builds  a  world,  but  love  grows 
old  and  tired,  and  all  it  built  grows  grey.  Then 
war  destroys  it,  and  makes  place  for  a  new  love  to 
build  new  worlds.  And  so  the  world  goes  on  from 
love  to  death,  and  so  to  a  new  life  and  higher.  The 
sweetest  music  is  saddest;  the  least  sad  is  that 
which  drives  to  war.  That  is  a  truth  of  life. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  33 

They  rose  and  walked  down  to  the  Grand  Canal, 
strolling  along,  crossing  the  bridge,  and  going  north. 
The  people  stood  in  ranks  beside  the  water  watch- 
ing the  fireworks  on  the  Lido.  When  they  ceased 
the  crowd  moved  on  again. 

'I  wish,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'that  this  night 
would  last  for  years.  I  love  the  stillness  of  the 
water,  the  music  that  floats  on  it,  the  dark,  the 
stars,  the  crowd  which  is  so  happy.  There  are  in 
the  world  many  places  beautiful,  yet  there  is  but 
one  Venice.  What  is  its  charm  ?  Venice  is  dead. 
Its  life  is  no  different  now  from  that  of  any  place.' 

'Venice  is  dead,'  he  murmured,  'yet  the  per- 
fume of  the  life  that  once  was  here  hangs  round 
it.  The  jar  that  held  the  roses  breaks  and  empties, 
but  their  odour  still  remains  for  those  who  love  it. 
The  sea-shell  holds  for  ever  in  its  heart  the  music 
of  the  waves/ 

'And  perhaps,'  she  answered,  'Venice  is  less 
changed  than  other  cities,  and  preserves  her  beauty. 
Neither  is  she  so  very  old.  Athens  is  dead  and 
turned  to  dust,  and  Rome  is  all  in  ruins.  Other 
places  have  assumed  the  garments  of  modernity, 
which  is  the  same  for  all.  But  Venice  is  not  so 
changed.  Perhaps  Othello,  Portia,  Desdemona 
would  know  and  recognise  it  could  they  see  it 
again.' 


34  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

They  came  back  to  the  square.  The  crowd  had 
lessened.  In  turning  past  the  campanile  they  met 
an  Indian  girl,  a  fellow-passenger.  She  wore  a 
dress  wherein  the  East  and  West  were  blended  in 
some  subtle  fashion.  A  gold-embroidered  saree 
made  of  Indian  silk  clung  to  her  closely,  as  it  clings 
to  the  bare  arms  and  shoulders  of  her  Eastern 
sisters.  It  hung  in  the  same  folds.  Her  hair  was 
done  in  Eastern  fashion,  that  is  near  the  classic. 
She  held  herself  with  dignity  and  grace.  She  had 
the  ease  and  repose  the  West  has  quite  forgotten. 
Somehow  she  was  in  keeping  with  the  city.  Its 
architecture  has  some  of  the  Eastern  colour.  It 
had  a  soul  half-Oriental,  and  its  dress,  like  hers, 
was  half  of  the  East.  She  might  have  landed  from 
some  galleon  anchored  now  within  the  roads,  or 
been  the  harem  slave  of  some  great  noble  brought 
from  Morocco  or  Constantinople. 

They  watched  her  pass  with  pleasure,  yet  she 
cast  a  silence  over  them. 

For  she  brought  to  them  remembrance  of  the 
East  from  which  she  came,  to  which  they  must 
return.  The  East,  the  East !  We  love  it  when 
we  go  there  first,  and  hope  to  win  affection  in  re- 
turn. We  never  do.  The  East  is  afraid  of  us. 
We  capture  her;  but  you  may  take  by  force  a 
body,  not  a  soul  —  that  can  be  given  only.  She 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  35 

holds  her  heart  away  from  us,  and  gives  us  but 
her  passion.  She  is  at  most  a  mistress,  not  a  wife. 
Her  suns  beat  on  us  cruelly,  her  hot  winds  burn 
like  barren  kisses,  her  warm  breath  brings  us  lan- 
guor, and  unless  we  flee  they  bring  us  death.  So, 
gradually,  our  love  becomes  a  fear  that  grows.  We 
dread  her,  and  we  hate  the  chain  that  draws  us 
back.  Our  hearts  are  ever  in  the  West,  whose 
breath  is  cool,  whose  eyes  and  skies  are  grey  and 
sometimes  dimmed  with  tears,  her  kisses  fragrant 
with  the  dew  of  dawn. 

They  stopped  and  watched  the  daughter  of  the 
Orient  till  she  disappeared  among  the  people. 

'She  has  her  beauty,'  Mrs.  Holman  said,  'and 
yet  I  wish  we  had  not  seen  her.  She  has  broken 
into  our  pleasure,  and  so  ended  it.' 

Warden  turned  round.  'Let  us  forget  again,'  he 
said. 

'It  is  too  late.  The  charm  is  broken.  I  remem- 
ber that  to-morrow  we  must  sail,'  said  Mrs.  Hol- 
man. 'Our  last  evening  in  the  West  is  ended. 
Let  us  go  now.  Please  tell  my  husband  and  Miss 
Ormond.' 

Holt  and  Mrs.  Holman  waited  by  the  campanile, 
while  Warden  followed  the  others  to  call  them  back. 
Both  were  silent.  It  seemed  the  prose  of  life  had 
come  into  their  pleasure. 


36  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'I  have  not  asked  you,'  said  Mrs.  Holman  sud- 
denly, 'how  did  you  like  my  cousin?  Did  you  tell 
her  about  Venice  ?' 

'Yes,  what  I  could.' 

'And  she;   what  did  she  tell  you?' 

'Nothing.' 

'Perhaps  you  did  not  ask.  You  know  with  us 
women  it  is  so;  we  must  be  questioned.  You  must 
take,  we  do  not  give.' 

'I  asked  a  question,  but  she  could  not  answer.' 

'Some  questions  have  no  answers.' 

'I  think  this  had  one;  but  she  did  not  know  it, 
nor  do  I.' 

Mrs.  Holman  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

'Time  only  has  the  answer  to  all  questions.' 

Venice  was  still  and  dark.  Her  jewels  had  gone 
out.  She  remembered  she  was  old. 

A  half-dead  moon  rose  from  the  sea  and  looked 
upon  the  sleeping  city.  Its  faint  far  light  silvered 
her  marbles  and  made  mysteries  in  her  streets. 
Her  quick  fever  over,  Venice  was  herself  again,  her 
still  white  shape  stretched  by  the  ebon  water. 

The  present  gone,  the  past  awoke. 

Within  the  shell  the  sounds  of  long  ago  were 
born  again.  There  echoed  in  her  ways  the  passions 
of  dead  centuries.  The  love,  the  hate,  the  lust  of 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  37 

life  and  death,  the  hot,  strong  tides  that  built  her, 
beat  like  a  distant  surge  upon  a  phantom  coast. 
Her  shadows  moved.  Lover,  conspirator,  assassin, 
statesman,  women  with  hair  that  shone  like  sun- 
born  halos,  loitered  and  whispered.  To  the  night 
silences  the  lapping  waters  spoke,  and  the  pale 
moon  climbed  the  skies. 


CHAPTER  V 

AT  dawn  a  shower  had  passed,  borne  from  the 
mountains  to  the  sea,  and  Venice  sparkled  fresh 
from  her  morning  bath.  To  the  Rialto  market 
came  the  boats  laden  with  fruit,  with  vegetables, 
with  birds  on  strings,  with  summer  flowers  that 
lingered  yet  in  secret  places.  Why  did  Horace  tell 
us  to  give  up  searching  for  late  roses  ?  They  and 
the  first  spring  blossoms  are  the  best  of  all. 

There  must  be  little  change  now  from  the  time 
when  Shylock  came  here  to  inquire  the  news  of 
Antonio's  ships.  The  canals,  the  narrow  ways, 
the  houses  are  not  much  altered.  There  was  a 
bridge,  as  there  is  now,  across  the  Grand  Canal. 
True,  it  was  wooden  then,  and  now  is  marble;  the 
change  is  not  so  great.  Had  it  been  steel,  there 
were  a  change  indeed. 

And  the  marble  is  not  new :  it  is  old,  and  scratched 
upon  its  stubborn  hardness  there  are  many  names; 
leaning  upon  its  balustrade  Holt  read  a  number  of 
them.  A  few  were  names  of  men,  but  most  were 
women's  names. 

38 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  39 

One  was  cut  deep  and  made  impression  on  the 
hand  that  rested  on  it. 

'Bianca,'  and  the  date  near  fifty  years  ago. 
Where  is  Bianca  now,  and  where  the  man  who  left 
her  name  here  ?  Probably  both  are  dead.  If  they 
are  dead,  what  did  they  leave  behind  them  ?  Does 
their  love  inherit  still  the  world  in  children,  or  have 
they  passed  into  forgetfulness  and  left  only  what 
the  marble  keeps  here  for  a  time  ? 

Men  live  and  work  and  cut  the  names  of  women 
upon  the  world.  The  greatest  tomb  the  world 
has  known  is  not  of  emperor  or  of  conqueror,  of 
philosopher  or  statesman.  It  is  but  of  a  woman. 
It  was  not  built  to  commemorate  a  victory,  a  glory, 
to  honour  knowledge,  wisdom,  art,  or  thought  of 
men,  but  to  a  passion  —  love.  The  greatest  faiths 
that  built  the  greatest  temples  are  the  faiths  of 
women.  Men  build  these  temples,  and  preserve  the 
faiths  for  which  they  give  their  lives. 

Men  cut  the  names  of  women  on  the  world  and 
on  their  hearts.  What  in  return  do  women  give 
us  ? 

The  waters  down  below  the  bridge  were  still 
and  dark.  He  could  not  see  into  them,  they  but 
gave  back  reflection  of  the  bridge,  the  sky,  himself. 

In  the  piazza  the  pigeons  preened  and  strutted. 
Hardly  would  they  move  to  let  the  passers-by  go 


40  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

on  their  way.  They  fluttered  round  a  girl  who  fed 
them,  perching  on  her  hands  and  shoulders,  and 
would  not  be  shaken  off. 

Holt  went  into  the  Ducal  Palace  and  crossed 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs.  A  tourist  party  were  before 
him,  and  he  waited  till  they  went  on.  And  then 
he  went  into  the  windowless  stone  cave  that  was 
the  room  of  torture  and  of  death.  It  was  quite 
dark  and  still.  The  lamp  of  the  guide  had  dis- 
appeared, descending  with  his  party;  the  voices 
had  died  away.  The  silence  of  the  thick  stone 
walls  closed  round  him;  he  seemed  alone  in  all  the 
world. 

He  lit  a  match  and  looked  about  him.  He  tried 
to  realise  what  it  was  that  these  stones  had  seen 
and  heard  —  the  blood  that  had  poured  upon  this 
floor,  the  cries  that  had  beaten  unavailingly  and 
found  no  exit.  No  one  could  see  save  those  who 
came  to  torture  and  to  kill;  no  one  but  they  could 
hear.  There  was  no  help  anywhere. 

The  red  light  of  the  match  tinged  the  walls  as 
if  with  blood,  and  it  went  out.  Darkness  returned. 
In  the  dead  silence  he  could  almost  hear  the  walls 
give  forth  again  that  which  they  had  heard,  which 
had  sunk  into  their  hardness  —  the  sobs,  the  shrieks, 
the  blasphemies,  the  prayers,  the  moans,  that  died 
away  in  silence. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  41 

He  felt  his  heart  was  beating  faster.  There  was 
a  singing  in  his  ears,  a  redness  in  his  eyes.  His 
nostrils  sniffed  the  acrid  scent  of  blood.  For  a 
moment  he  became  terribly  afraid.  He  had  an 
impulse  to  escape,  to  run  to  some  place  where  the 
sun  was  shining  and  the  free  wind  blew.  He 
forced  the  impulse  under.  He  wished  to  under- 
stand. For  this,  too,  was  part  of  the  life  that 
Venice  had  lived,  a  shadow  in  that  abounding 
light.  How  many  hundred  bodies  had  suffered  in 
agony  where  he  stood  ?  How  many  hundred  souls 
had  escaped  at  length  through  stone  and  door  and 
gone  into  the  unknown  ?  They  had  suffered  for 
their  own  sins,  for  the  sins  of  others;  a  suffering 
given  in  punishment,  in  revenge,  in  lust  of  the  pain 
of  others. 

The  lust  of  life  is  the  lust  of  death,  the  lust  of 
pleasure  needs  its  counterpart  in  the  lust  of  pain, 
of  beauty  in  horror,  of  hope  and  gladness  in  de- 
spair. Life  is  always  balanced.  If  the  pendulum 
swings  far  one  way,  it  will  swing  far  the  other. 

He  was  sure  that  a  key  to  understand  all  the 
art  and  beauty  of  that  great  city  and  the  life  that 
made  it  lay  in  this  death-chamber,  one  key  of  the 
many  that  opened  the  hundred  locks  of  the  gates 
of  understanding.  Pleasure  and  pain  are  comple- 
mentary one  to  the  other.  One  could  not  have 


42  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

existed  without  the  other.  You  must  pay  its  price 
for  life  —  in  death,  a  great  price.  And  presently 
the  horror  and  disgust  somewhat  passed  away,  and 
he  began  to  wonder  whether  the  price  was  in  fact 
so  great.  The  fear  of  death  is  greatly  fictitious 
and  greatly  modern.  It  exists  for  the  most  part 
in  the  imagination.  Acquaintance  with  death  does 
not  increase  the  fear,  but  decreases  it.  When  men 
are  first  in  battle,  and  see  wounds  and  death,  they 
are  horrified  and  sickened;  but  by  degrees,  by 
quick  degrees,  the  feeling  wears  away.  It  is  not 
that  men  become  callous  or  hardened,  but  that 
they  learn  to  estimate  these  things  at  their  proper 
worth.  The  more  men  see  of  wounds  and  death, 
the  less  they  think  them  to  be  feared.  After  all, 
the  capability  of  the  body  to  suffer  is  limited,  far 
more  limited  than  those  who  have  not  suffered  it 
think.  Most  men  have  passed  it  some  time  or  an- 
other, and  become  insensible  from  pain.  No  one 
tortured  in  that  cell  could  have  felt  more,  because 
there  was  no  more  to  feel.  Nature  is  very  merci- 
ful, and  we  never  know  her  mercy  till  we  need  it. 
And  death  itself;  the  horror  of  death  lies  in  the 
fear  of  it;  the  more  you  know  of  it,  the  less  you 
fear  it. 

In  old  Venice   death   and   suffering  were   always 
near;    there  was  the  sword  of  the  public  and  the 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  43 

private  enemy,  the  dagger  of  the  secret  assassin, 
the  poisoned  cup,  the  torture  chamber;  there  was 
disease  against  which  science  had  no  help.  From 
youth  up  they  looked  on  pain  and  death  and  feared 
them  not,  but  found  in  them  a  relish  to  life,  a  spur, 
an  incentive  to  take  all  that  life  could  give  you,  to 
drink  the  cup  to  the  lees  and  laugh. 

Life  was  hot  and  strong  and  passionate.  Those 
who  could  not  face  its  swirling  tides  became  priests 
or  monks,  and  went  into  the  eddies  of  life.  They 
lived  their  lives  of  quietness  apart.  They  did  not 
try  to  persuade  all  the  world  to  peace  because  they 
were  afraid  of  war;  they  did  not  seek  to  stagnate 
all  a  nation's  blood  to  keep  time  with  their  own. 
Life  was  then  of  extremes,  of  hill  and  valley,  of  hate 
and  love,  of  fear  and  hope,  and  not  an  uniformity 
of  nothing,  a  dead  plain  whereon  continuous  shallow 
pools  of  sentiment  make  the  ways  sloppy. 

Therefore  was  such  a  prison,  such  a  torture 
chamber,  possible  in  the  great  city.  It  did  not 
strike  imagination  then  as  it  did  now.  It  was  the 
inevitable  shadow  of  a  strong  life  that  burned  with 
brilliance. 

And  now  we  remember  Venice  for  her  loves, 
and  not  her  hates;  for  her  virtues,  not  her  sins. 
They  are  forgotten.  Much  is  forgiven  her  because 
she  loved  much. 


44  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

But  nowadays  our  life  burns  dimly.  We  are  old 
men  who  fear  death  more  than  young  men.  We 
are  so  afraid  that  we  go  about  and  pray  for  uni- 
versal peace;  we  say  that  in  the  whole  existence 
there  is  nothing  worth  fighting  for,  nothing  worth 
suffering  for.  Put  up  with  everything  and  still  live 
on;  we  call  it  by  high  names,  humanity,  morality, 
altruism,  so  to  excuse  our  slowness  of  the  blood. 
We  try  to  reduce  everything  to  commonplace,  and 
life  to  universal  formulae.  In  vain,  in  vain.  The 
only  Absolute  we  know  is  nothing.  Death  and  life 
are  one. 

Yet  he  was  glad  to  leave  it,  glad  to  cross  the  bridge 
again  and  come  before  the  art  that  glows  from  wall 
and  ceiling  in  the  palace.  Its  form  and  colour 
came  from  life  at  its  highest.  The  painters  mixed 
their  paints  with  blood.  Without  it  no  great  thing 
in  the  world  has  been  achieved.  Great  nations, 
cities,  families,  great  laws,  great  arts,  great  science 
have  risen  from  seas  of  blood,  like  souls  above  it. 
We  write  our  names  upon  the  world  in  blood  and 
not  in  ink  or  water.  It  is  fire  that  lights  the  world, 
fire  struck  from  the  hearts  of  men. 

What  strikes  this  fire  ? 

He  stepped  out  of  the  Council  chamber  to  the 
balcony  that  gives  upon  the  harbour.  Standing 
there  he  found  Miss  Ormond. 


CHAPTER  VI 

'You  have  come,'  he  said,  'to  say  good-bye  to 
Venice?  You  are  alone?'  She  turned  round  sud- 
denly, surprised  that  he  should  be  there. 

'They  are  looking  at  pictures,  Mrs.  Holman  and 
Captain  Warden.' 

'And  you?     You  do  not  care  for  pictures?' 

'My  eyes  get  tired,'  she  answered;  'all  pictures 
have  the  same  distance.' 

'And  so  the  eye  gets  tired  ?' 

'  I  want  a  change  —  to  look  at  things  far  off,  to 
look  at  nothing.  That  is  a  rest.' 

'The  sea  and  sky,'  he  answered,  'where  our 
sight  can  travel  on  and  on;  to  see  nothing,  and 
therefore  to  see  more;  just  as  our  arms  get  tired 
with  holding,  so  we  stretch  them  forth  to  nothing. 
And  hold  the  more.  A  thing  or  many  things 
are  finite;  there  are  but  two  infinities  —  everything 
and  nothing;  they  are  the  same.' 

She  looked  at  him  in  doubt.  'But  there  must 
be  a  foreground  to  the  sea  and  sky.  There  are 
the  boats,  the  waves,  the  tide.' 

'So  there  must  be  a  foreground  to  eternity,  the 

45 


46  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

present.  Everything  that  we  see  and  know  is  but 
a  foreground,  and  the  distance  gives  it  scale.  I 
have  heard  it  said  a  picture  should  have  in  it  always 
somewhere  a  hint  of  distance.  In  an  interior  a 
window  should  be  open  or  a  door,  or  there  should 
be  a  beam  of  light,  so  that  the  eye  and  thought  will 
not  forget  all  that  there  is  beyond.' 

She  did  not  answer.  They  went  inside  to  the 
great  Council  chamber,  but  it  was  empty,  so  they 
set  to  walk  through  the  other  rooms  looking  for 
Mrs.  Holman,  but  they  did  not  find  her.  The 
great  bare  figures  of  the  frescoes  seemed  almost 
living.  They  stared,  they  moved. 

'You  do  not  care  for  art?'  he  asked. 

She  stopped  and  looked  him  in  the  face,  and 
dropped  her  eyes.  Then  she  moved  on  again. 

'I  ask  you  questions,  but  you  do  not  answer/ 

'You  ask  me  questions  and  I  do  not  answer, 
because  your  questions  are  not  questions.* 

'What  are  they?' 

'They  are  assertions.  You  do  not  ask  because 
you  want  to  know,  but  because  you  want  me  to 
know  something.' 

'  How  do  you  mean  ?  If  I  do  so  it  is  not  con- 
sciously.' 

'You  asked  me  why  I  answered  you  when  you 
sailed  in;  you  knew  I  did  not  know,  you  knew  I 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  47 

could  not  tell  you.  You  only  asked  because  you 
wished  me  to  remember  I  had  done  so  and  to  won- 
der why,  to  keep  on  thinking  of  it.  You  ask  me 
if  I  care  for  art.  You  mean  that  you  are  sure  I  do 
not,  and  want  me  to  understand  that  you  have 
seen  it.' 

'I  did  not  mean  it  so/ 

'No;  but  like  me,  like  all  of  us,  you  also  say 
and  do  things  you  do  not  know  the  reason  of/ 

'Of  course;  I  live,  for  instance,  but  I  have  no 
idea  why,  nor  for  what  end,  nor  whether  life  has 
any  meaning.' 

'I  have  been  asked,'  she  said  impatiently,  'a 
hundred  times  if  I  cared  for  art,  and  I  have  an- 
swered Yes.  I  have  believed  yes.  I  like  light  and 
colour,  form  and  line.' 

'Are  they  not  art?' 

'Until  yesterday,  until  to-day,  I  should  have  said 
Yes.  Now  I  begin  to  think  art  is  far  more  than  that.' 

'What  more?' 

She  stopped  again  and  looked  at  him  angrily 
and  yet  with  a  hidden  supplication  in  her  eyes. 

'If  you  are  clever  why  should  you  wish  to  make 
me  feel  a  fool  and  ignorant  ?  Does  it  give  you 
pleasure  ?' 

It  was  his  turn  to  be  silent.  What  had  he  said 
or  done,  to  make  her  turn  on  him  like  this  ?  How 


48  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

had  he  vexed  her  ?  and  as  for  ignorance,  it  was  he 
who  felt  the  ignorance. 

'I  am  very  sorry,'  he  replied;  'I  did  not  mean 
it.  You  think  I  am  a  prig;  it  is  not  true.  I  do  not 
think  I  know  things.  It  is  the  other  way.  I  know 
my  ignorance  too  well.  I  look  and  try  to  learn. 
I  asked  because  I  wished  to  know/ 

'And  I  am  sorry,'  she  said,  'for  I  know  that  what 
you  say  is  true.  You  have  not  wished  to  humble 
me,  yet  you  have  done  it.' 

'And  you  have  me,'  he  answered.  'Yesterday 
perhaps  I  should  have  said  I  knew  a  little;  now 
I  am  sure  it  is  not  so.  That  is  your  doing;  you 
have  done  to  me  as  I  to  you.' 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  thought  he  was  de- 
fending himself  by  echoing  her  accusation. 

And  yet  he  knew  that  it  was  true.  He  had  been 
content  before  with  what  he  knew  of  life  and  art  — 
little  enough,  picked  up  from  books  and  people. 
He  had  not  troubled  himself  about  either.  Art 
was  but  an  addition  to  the  pleasures  and  the  orna- 
ments of  life,  and  life  itself  was  simple  enough  to 
be  taken  as  it  came.  Yet  now  it  seemed  to  him 
that  both  had  meanings,  and  that  they  should  be 
known ;  that  art  and  life  were  not  two  things  but  one, 
or,  rather,  art  was  part  of  life,  a  facet  of  it.  There- 
fore he  tried  to  know  more  of  the  one  and  other. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  49 

Life  had  so  many  sides;  men  were  part  of  life 
and  women.  To  understand  art  or  life  completely 
one  must  see  it  from  both  their  standpoints.  What 
was  a  woman's  standpoint  ?  What  did  this  girl 
think  of  these  pictures  ?  He  asked  her  because 
he  wished  to  know. 

Yet  how  could  she  answer  ? 

It  must  all  look  so  very  different  from  their  side. 
To  take  one  thing  alone.  She  did  not  look  at  the 
nude  pictures,  but  passed  them  by;  and  yet  to 
men  they  are,  perhaps,  the  most  beautiful  side  of 
art.  Because  man  loves  woman  all  in  all;  he 
glorifies  her;  there  is  in  her  for  him  nothing  common 
or  unclean.  She  thrills  his  pulses  with  a  romance 
born  of  the  earth  that  rises  towards  heaven. 

The  artist  draws  her,  with  a  passion  that  is  like 
sunshine,  which  makes  beautiful  everything  it  touches. 
His  passion  gives  her  form  meaning  and  poetry. 
He  feels  the  spirit  of  immortality  it  holds  for  him. 
What  he  feels  he  puts  into  his  picture,  and  all  men 
see  and  feel  it. 

With  woman  it  is  different.  How  can  she  un- 
derstand ?  When  women  paint  women  the  passion 
is  not  there,  and  the  picture  does  not  live.  When 
women  see  women  painted  they  can  only  feel  what 
they  have  within  them.  Therefore  they  do  not  care 
for  such  art,  they  are  afraid  of  it.  They  wonder 


5o  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

at  men  liking  it,  because  they  do  not  understand. 
They  condemn  us,  perhaps,  whereas  it  is  their  own 
deficiency.  Man  sees  in  every  woman  something 
of  the  goddess,  and  in  return  what  do  they  give  us  ? 

Always  the  same  question  and  no  answer. 

Is  there  ever  an  answer  to  the  questions  that  we 
ask  of  life,  of  fate,  of  art,  of  women  ? 

Where  are  the  Sibylline  books  ?  Are  they  all 
burnt  ? 

They  suddenly  came  on  Mrs.  Holman  and  on 
Warden. 

'Where  have  you  come  from  ?'   they  demanded. 

Holt  told  them  he  had  been  down  in  the  prison. 

'You  look/  said  Warden,  'as  if  you  had  seen 
a  ghost.' 

'I  tried  to  see  some  ghosts  there,'  he  answered; 
'I  called  to  them.' 

'So  did  Glendower.  "I  can  call  spirits  from 
the  vasty  deep,"  he  said,  to  which  Percy  answered, 
"And  so  can  I,  and  so  can  every  man.  But  will 
they  come  when  you  do  call  ?" 

'They  did  not  come.' 

'Why  did  you  wish  to  see  them  ?'  asked  Mrs. 
Holman. 

'To  ask  them  questions/ 

'Questions  of  the  past  ?' 

'No!  of  the  present/ 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  51 

'The  answer  to  the  present  is  in  the  future,  not 
in  the  past,'  she  said. 

'We  should  all  have  done  better,'  said  Warden, 
'had  we  gone  out  to  the  Lido,  or  made  a  trip  to 
Murano,  instead  of  spending  all  our  morning  in  a 
picture  gallery  and  palace.  You  have  been  ghost- 
seeking  and  failed;  Miss  Ormond  has  tired  her 
eyes/ 

'I  have  enjoyed  myself/  said  Mrs.  Holman. 

'You  would  enjoy  anything,  I  believe,' said  Warden. 

'I  care  for  art,  or,  rather,  for  some  art,  and  you 
do  not,'  she  answered. 

'I  don't,'  said  Warden.  'Frankly  I  don't.  I, 
like  Miss  Ormond,  prefer  the  sea  and  sky  and  the 
fresh  air.' 

'One  may  like  them  too,'  said  Mrs.  Holman, 
'and  still  like  art.' 

'Perhaps.  And  any  art  that  was  as  true  as  they 
are  would  please  me  too,  I  think.  But  Madonnas 
who  look  sad  or  simper,  saints  full  of  arrows,  trees 
that  bear  dead  men  as  fruit,  imaginary  resurrections, 
and  the  like,  do  not  appeal  to  me.' 

'What  would?'  asked  Mrs.  Holman.  'What 
would  you  have  had  these  Venetians  paint  if  not 
what  they  did  ?' 

Warden  reflected.  'I  would  have  had  them 
paint  not  holy  Virgins,  but  the  Venetian  women, 


52  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

the  gorgeous  ladies  of  their  day,  the  market  women, 
the  village  maidens  as  they  lived  and  loved.  I 
would  have  had  them  paint  not  stupid  legends  like 
that  of  the  fisherman's  ring,  but  pictures  of  the 
galleons  going  out  to  sea  to  fight,  or  sailing  far  away 
to  unknown  lands.  I  would  have  had  them  paint 
not  tortured  saints,  but  if  they  wanted  blood  and 
bones,  then  battlefields  where  men  died  worthily. 
Of  all  the  glory  of  Venice  how  little  is  there  in  its 
art?' 

Mrs.  Holman  and  the  girl  looked  sympathy. 

'I  think,'  said  Holt,  'that  you  are  wrong.' 

'  How  wrong  ?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you 
would  not  sooner  have  such  pictures  painted  as 
these  painters  alone  could  paint,  than  all  these 
acres  of  saints  and  other  trumpery  that  they  spent 
their  genius  on  ?  Don't  you  prefer  a  laughing 
girl  to  a  Madonna,  a  man  doing  something  and 
not  merely  suffering?' 

'Perhaps  I  would,  even  most  people  would  to- 
day. But  you  forget  that  they  painted  not  for  us 
but  for  themselves,  their  times,  their  world.' 

'Why  did  they  want  to  paint  such  things  ?'  asked 
Mrs.  Holman.  'What  did  their  world  see  in  them  ?' 

'Because,'  he  said,  'art  is  a  complement  to  life. 
It  makes  it  clearer,  sounder;  it  tells  us  truths  that 
the  present  hides.  Why  should  they  wish  to  paint 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  53 

all  that  they  did  and  not  the  scenes  of  ordinary  life  ? 
Because  they  were  the  common  things  of  life.  And 
art  can  never  compete  with  reality.  It  cannot, 
and  it  should  not.' 

' Why  not?' 

*  It  cannot,  because  no  pictured  thing,  no  written 
thing,  can  ever  equal  life.  It  should  not,  for  why 
attempt  the  impossible  and  the  unnecessary  ?  Art 
has  its  message  different  from  ordinary  life.' 

'What  is  that  message  ?  To  give  us  the  unreal  ?' 
asked  Warden. 

'No,  but  to  give  us  other  meanings  and  other 
values  of  life  besides  those  that  are  before  us  daily. 
The  views  of  life  are  infinite.  Art  teaches  us  what 
we  do  not  see  daily  and  what  we  forget.  None  of 
us  care  to  see  paintings  and  read  books  of  our  own 
everyday  life.  Instinct  tells  us  that  is  not  what  we 
want.  The  servant  girl  reads  of  duchesses,  the 
duchess  reads  about  the  slums.' 

'Yes,  that  is  true,'  said  Mrs.  Holman.  'I  live 
in  India,  and  I  do  not  care  to  read  the  tales  of  Anglo- 
Indian  life.  I  wish  to  read  of  what  I  do  not  know.' 

And  Warden,  too,  agreed.  'Stories  of  soldiers' 
life  and  pictures  of  it  I  do  not  care  for,  being  myself 
a  soldier.  I  did  not  think  of  that.' 

'And  you  do  not  care  for  pictures  of  life  to-day, 
however  good  they  be.  I  wonder  if  many  of  the 


54  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

great  works  of  ancient  art  we  so  admire  to-day 
appeared  so  great  to  those  who  saw  them  new. 
They  may  have  gained  by  strangeness.  Yes,  the 
message  of  true  art  is  to  the  day  not  to  the  morrow.' 

'Is  it  not  of  both?'  asked  Mrs.  Holman.  'Is 
not  the  highest  art  for  ever?' 

He  wondered  if  it  were  so,  and  if  there  were  any 
'for  ever.'  They  walked  down  the  great  staircase 
to  the  square.  Warden  and  Miss  Ormond  went 
on  in  front.  Mrs.  Holman  asked  — 

'Are  you  an  artist  ?' 

'No.' 

'A  poet?' 

'No.' 

'But  you  would  like  to  be?' 

'I  do  not  think  so.  Yet  I  would  like  to  see  as 
they  do.  It  is  not  that  they  see  more  than  other  men, 
for  they  see  less.  But  they  see  what  others  do  not. 
It  is  the  hidden  things  of  life  that  come  to  them  and 
the  ordinary  life  that  is  hidden.  They  turn  life's  gar- 
ment inside  out.  I  would  like  to  see  all  sides  - 
their  side,  the  world's  side,  religion's  side,  man's 
side  and  woman's  —  to  have  a  glimpse  of  all  of  them.' 

Mrs.  Holman  looked  at  him  curiously. 

'Do  you  think  that  any  one  can  see  all  this  at 
once  ?  and  if  he  could,  would  he  not  be  in  danger 

o 

of  developing  something  of  a  mental  squint?' 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  55 

He  laughed.     'Perhaps.' 

The  sunlight  in  the  square  lay  like  aerial  gold 
that  flowed  and  ebbed  against  it;  the  life  that  passed 
was  dull  and  commonplace.  It  wanted  the  figures 
from  the  frescoes  to  come  and  live  in  it.  Or  is  it 
that  life  requires  interpretation  ?  We  see  the  paint- 
ings through  the  minds  of  those  who  painted  them, 
we  see  life  through  our  own.  The  dulness  is  in  the 
seer. 

Before  them  Warden  and  Miss  Ormond  walked 
and  chatted.  They  were  disputing  merrily  about  a 
matter.  At  last  they  heard  Warden  say  decisively — 

'All  men  are  poets  naturally,  no  women  are; 
and  the  proof  is  that  we  see  a  poem  in  things  that 
you  deem  commonplace.' 

'What  things,  for  instance?' 

'A  salmon  mayonnaise,  a  good  beef-steak,  a 
tankard  of  cool  beer.' 

Miss  Ormond  laughed.  'So  that  is  your  poetry; 
material,  all  of  the  earth  and  earthy.' 

'So  are  all  real  things,'  he  answered.  'You 
can  grasp  them  and  they  do  not  fade.' 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  noon  the  ship  had  come  round  from  the  docks 
and  anchored  in  the  Grand  Canal,  and  when  they 
went  on  board  late  in  the  afternoon  they  met  the 
Syndic  and  a  party  returning  from  her.  There 
had  been  a  lunch  on  board  and  speeches  to  wish 
well  to  the  adventure.  But  in  these  days  when 
everything  has  become  a  matter  of  machine-like 
regularity  good  wishes  seem  superfluous.  There  is 
so  little  one  can  wish  for  with  any  likelihood  of 
realisation.  For  one  wishes  for  the  unusual  and 
not  the  commonplace. 

They  watched  their  fellow-passengers  come  on 
board.  A  voyage  is  a  strange  thing.  It  is  a  space 
between  two  worlds  of  East  and  West,  between  two 
lives,  that  which  we  live  at  home,  and  that  out 
there.  It  belongs  to  neither.  It  is  a  neutral  time 
that  does  not  link,  but  rather  divides  them,  making 
the  transition  possible.  And  those  we  meet  on 
board,  for  the  most  part  have  no  place  before  or 
after.  They  come  into  our  lives  when  first  they 
mount  the  gangway.  For  a  month  they  may  mean 

56 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  57 

much  or  little  to  us.  Some  of  them  must  mean  much 
in  that  brief  time,  for  in  their  power  is  much.  The 
voyage  may  be  pleasant  or  the  reverse;  they  have 
it  in  their  power  to  make  it  either.  You  get  to  know 
them  well  in  some  ways,  and  in  others  not  at  all. 
There  are  many  sides  of  character  that  a  voyage 
never  calls  forth.  Then  when  the  ship  arrives  at 
its  journey's  end  they  go  again  into  the  unknown 
from  which  they  sprang,  they  disappear.  Yet 
perhaps  not  all  of  them.  There  may  be  one  some- 
times whose  thread  will  get  so  firmly  twisted  into 
yours  upon  that  voyage  that  it  can  never  afterwards 
be  separated  quite. 

They  were  a  strange  mixture  that  came  up.  Their 
appearance  was  dramatic.  They  rose  as  from  the 
sea,  their  faces  showing  above  the  rail  without  a 
warning;  they  stepped  upon  the  deck;  and  then 
they  went  below  and  others  followed  them. 

They  were  not  like  the  passengers  of  other  ships 
on  which  Holt  had  travelled,  going  to  and  from  the 
East.  For  these  are  usually  all  the  same.  Soldiers, 
civilians,  merchants;  it  is  strange  to  see  how  Indian 
life  levels  all  differences  that  occupation  impresses 
on  the  appearance,  and  has  a  clear  stamp  of  its  own. 
It  overrides  all  differences. 

But  in  this  ship  there  was  no  sameness.  There 
was  no  dominating  nationality;  English  and  Ger- 


58  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

man,  Italian,  Austrian,  all  were  fairly  numerous, 
and  there  were  two  Greeks,  a  Russian  Jew,  a  Dane, 
Egyptians,  and  the  Indian  girl.  The  ship  was  a 
kaleidoscope  of  nationalities.  Their  occupations 
could  not  so  easily  be  guessed.  They  were  for 
time  to  show.  Noticeable  amongst  them  all  were 
a  company  of  nuns.  Their  ugly  dresses  and  white 
coifs  showed  up  beside  the  other  women.  They 
gave  distinctness  and  decision. 

He  watched  the  stream  that  came  on  board  and 
wondered.  Amongst  these  numerous  faces  was 
there  one  he  should  remember  ?  He  thought  there 
was  not.  How  should  he  know  ? 

They  sailed  at  sunset  as  they  had  come  in.  They 
watched  the  city  sink  into  the  waves  from  which 
she  rose.  Her  glory  disappeared. 

But  up  above  her  all  along  the  west  the  sunset 
lingered.  The  sky  glowed  like  an  emerald  sea,  and 
little  clouds,  all  crimson  flushed,  made  islets  on  it. 
It  seemed  a  last  good-bye,  a  flush  of  sorrow,  and  it 
said:  'Return,  for  in  the  West  is  home;  the  East 
to  which  you  go  holds  nothing  for  you.  Lo,  the 
seas  are  dark  before  you,  and  your  light  is  left 
behind.' 

They  sat  and  watched  in  silence  for  their  hearts 
were  sore. 

In  the  old  days  when  men  sailed  forth  their  gal- 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  59 

Icons  from  young  Venice  they  went  gladly.  They 
went  because  the  wander-thirst  was  on  them  and 
their  souls  were  in  Cathay.  The  world  was  wide, 
and  held  within  its  hands  innumerable  unknown 
places  and  peoples.  It  was  full  yet  of  romance, 
none  who  sailed  could  tell  whither  they  would  arrive 
nor  what  would  befall  them.  There  were  dangers 
by  sea  and  land,  storms  and  hidden  rocks,  land 
thieves  and  water  thieves.  There  were  inhospi- 
table shores,  where  no  people  lived,  or  only  savages. 
Enemies  lurked  for  them,  and  Death  awaited  them 
on  every  hand. 

But  were  there  not  rewards  for  those  who  dared  ? 
Were  there  not  foreign  kings  who  lived  in  palaces 
of  gold  who  gave  of  it  to  those  who  came,  orchards 
of  golden  apples,  vineyards  with  jewelled  grapes  ? 
There  were  princesses  fairer  than  mortal  women 
to  be  wooed  and  won.  They  pined  in  fairy  grottoes, 
hidden  in  deep  trees,  for  their  deliverer.  And  far 
beyond  the  sunrise  were  the  magic  seas  where  no 
one  yet  had  sailed;  they  lay  in  endless  summer 
and  they  held  the  Islands  of  Desire. 

Can  you  wonder  that  men  sailed  forth  with  shouts 
of  gladness  in  those  old  days  ?  These  were  rewards 
well  worth  the  winning.  Hope  went  before  them  and 
the  world  was  wide. 

But   now   how   different   is    it.     More    and   more 


60  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

reluctantly  we  go  forth  to  the  East.  Adventure 
and  romance  are  dead.  We  know  where  we  shall 
be  each  day,  and  when  we  shall  arrive.  There 
are  no  dangers  nor  are  there  great  rewards.  There 
are  no  unknown  lands.  Upon  the  chart  are  marked 
each  land,  each  sea.  The  machine  rules  everything, 
ourselves,  our  days,  our  years.  There  is  not  any- 
thing unknown  we  may  discover;  there  are  no  palaces 
of  gold ;  there  are  no  princes  nor  princesses.  Every 
place  is  ruled,  is  levelled,  flattened  by  a  machine 
called  Law;  men  and  their  hopes  and  passions, 
women  in  their  beauty  and  their  tears,  are  but  the 
flies  upon  its  wheels.  We  used  to  travel  on  the  wheels 
of  Chance,  but  Chance  is  dead  long,  long  ago;  now 
we  go  only  round  and  round  on  the  machine. 

The  Islands  of  Desire  are  sunk  beneath  the  waves. 
They  lived  in  phantasy  alone,  or  like  the  clouds 
upon  the  sunset  sky.  No  man  shall  find  them  ever 
more,  shall  feel  their  summer  or  be  lulled  beneath 
their  trees. 

So  thought  they  as  they  watched  the  sunset  fade 
behind  them.  For  in  front  the  seas  were  dark,  and 
in  the  sky  there  was  no  flush,  no  light.  There  were 
only  stars  that  hung  far  up;  like  eyes  that  watched 
but  gave  no  light,  no  help.  Romance  is  dead  for 
ever.  She  with  Chance  and  Fortune  have  been 
crushed  beneath  the  wheels  of  Fate. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  61 

And  yet,  —  are  all  the  ways  mapped  out,  and  do 
we  know  our  destinations  ?  Our  hearts,  our  souls, 
are  they  turned  too  upon  a  wheel,  and  do  we  know 
where  they  will  go  ?  Or  are  there  charts  that  tell  us  ? 
Can  we  say  with  certainty,  *I  go  to  this  land  or  to 
that  ? '  Are  there  no  magic  seas  where  no  man  yet 
has  sailed,  no  island  we  may  find  and  make  our  own 
and  reign  the  only  king  for  ever  ?  Are  there  no 
fairy  princes  left  to  take  a  maiden  by  the  hand, 
awaken  her  and  lead  her  to  his  palace  all  of  gold  ? 
Is  all  the  world  grown  old  and  grey  ? 

There  is  a  country  yet  where  all  is  young;  where 
all  is  strange  and  new.  Of  that  country  nothing 
ever  will  be  known.  Though  many  men  have 
travelled  there,  they  make  no  maps;  though  women 
have  arrived  they  have  never  told  the  road  to  follow. 
There  is  no  road,  no  path,  no  track,  for  no  one  ever 
yet  has  gone  the  same  path  as  his  predecessor.  Each 
must  make  his  way  alone,  his  way  anew,  a  way  that 
will  close  after  him  and  leave  no  trace.  In  that  heart 
country  there  are  seas  that  no  ship  has  ever  sailed. 
There  are  new  lands  no  foot  has  ever  trod.  There 
are  islands  girt  with  the  inviolate  sea,  an  island  for 
each  man  who  dares.  The  winds  blow  there  and 
waft  the  ship  in  their  own  way.  There  is  no  com- 
pass, and  the  stars  wheel  round  and  round  and  laugh. 

Only  the  winds  that  blow  from  heaven  are  true. 


62  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

They  know  the  way  and  only  they.  The  mariner 
who  is  wise  quits  then  the  helm  and  spreads  his  sails 
and  sits  upon  the  prow.  He  sits  and  watches  while 
the  gales  take  him  across  the  uncharted  sea. 

He  watches,  and  at  last  the  golden  mist  dissolves 
and  shows  him  he  has  reached  these  Islands  of 
Desire. 

They  sat  on  deck  until  the  light  had  faded  and 
the  darkness  was  all  round  them;  till  the  night 
was  late.  There  was  a  silence  all  along  the  decks. 
They  sat  and  looked  across  the  night,  as  if  against 
its  blackness  to  picture  what  had  been. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A  SAPPHIRE  sea  that  stretched  to  the  horizon,  a 
plate  of  bluest  water  bounded  by  a  rim,  and  above 
the  inverted  bowl  of  clearest  heaven.  It  seemed 
always  the  same  sea,  tossing  its  waves  into  little 
crests  of  foam,  running,  rising,  falling;  it  seemed 
always  the  same  sky  set  above  it,  cloudless  and  full 
of  light.  And  in  the  middle,  to  all  appearance 
fixed  immovably  though  moving  always,  was  the 
ship.  The  waves  were  cleft  before  her  bows,  they 
hurried  along  her  sides,  they  closed  in  foam  behind 
her;  she  bowed  in  long  and  stately  measure  like  a 
great  sea-creature  in  a  long-timed  canter  of  rhythmic 
rise  and  fall.  Yet  there  seemed  no  result :  the  blue 
horizon  rim  came  never  nearer,  the  heavens  never 
changed.  Only  the  sun  climbed  up  the  great  blue 
bowl,  hung  in  the  zenith,  and  then  fell  again. 

'It  seems  to  me  a  new  world,'  the  girl  said.  'I 
have  never  before  been  out  of  sight  of  land  with 
nothing  but  the  sea  and  sky.  I  have  never  before 
been  with  such  strange  people;  I  mean  so  near  them, 
able  to  make  friends  with  them  if  I  want.' 

'  Are  they  strange  ? ' 


64  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Yes,  they  are  strange.  They  are  of  so  many 
different  nations.  These  Germans,  Austrians,  Ital- 
ians; I  think  that  man  over  there  is  Greek;  there 
is  the  Indian  girl,  and  then  there  are  ourselves/ 

'True,'  answered  Holt,  'we  are  a  mixed  company/ 

'And  not  in  nationalities  alone,  but  in  other 
things.  Look,  there  are  nuns.  Their  dress  is 
ugly,  but  it  gives  to  them  a  dignity  and  personality. 
They  have  their  way  of  life  and  their  belief,  and 
are  not  ashamed  of  either.  Nowadays  in  England 
we  all  try  to  be  the  same  and  have  no  individuality.' 

'Yes,  we  are  ashamed  to  be  ourselves.  But 
perhaps  we  have  no  selves  to  be.  We  are  but  coins 
struck  from  out  a  mint  in  the  image  and  super- 
scription of  our  country,  and  that  is  all.  We  are  of 
it,  not  of  ourselves.  Some  day,  perhaps,  we  shall 
have  a  reaction,  and  localities  and  individuals  again 
have  life.' 

'There  are  these  German  women.  Mrs.  Hoi- 
man  told  me  that  they  are  missionaries.  They 
are  girls  going  to  the  East  to  marry  men  they  have 
never  seen.' 

'Yes,  it  is  true.  These  broad  wedding  rings 
they  wear  are  their  betrothal  rings.  They  bind 
them  to  a  man  they  have  not  seen,  to  be  half  of 
him,  to  share  their  lives  with  him.' 

'How  can  they  do  it  ?'  asked  the  girl. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  65 

'How  can  the  nuns  abjure  all  that  seems  to  make 
life  worth  the  living  and  still  be  happy  ?  I  do  not 
know.  Women  are  strange  creatures/ 

'Not  stranger  than  you  men,'  she  answered. 
'You  are  a  mystery  to  us  as  we  to  you/ 

Holt  nodded.  'I  suppose/  he  said,  'we  seem 
so,  but  to  ourselves  we  are  quite  simple/ 

The  girl  laughed.  'As  to  ourselves  we  women 
are  quite  simple.  We  wonder  when  you  talk  of 
our  mystery.  Wherein  lies  that  mystery?' 

He  looked  at  her  and  shook  his  head.  'If  I 
could  tell  you  where  the  mystery  lay  I  should  have 
solved  it.  I  can  no  more  tell  where  it  lies  than 
why  I  should  like  talking  to  you/  He  saw  her 
face  was  beautiful,  her  colour  like  the  texture  of  a 
flower,  her  smile  like  sunshine  on  the  sea,  yet  he 
knew  that  the  charm  was  not  in  them.  They  gave  it 
strength  and  meaning,  but  the  magic  lay  much 
deeper. 

She  looked  up  with  a  sudden  deepening  of  her 
colour  which  quickly  passed.  'Tell  me/  she  said, 
'something  about  the  men.  Who  is  the  happy  old 
man  with  thick  white  hair  ?' 

'He  is  a  German,  a  Professor.  I  don't  know 
yet  what  it  is  exactly  he  professes,  but  I  have  been 
told  that  it  is  insects  and  plants.  He  is  going  to 
German  East  Africa  for  some  Society/ 


66  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'He  looks  too  old  to  travel  to  such  places.  He 
should  be  at  home.  Why  does  he  travel?' 

Holt  shook  his  head.  'Why  do  some  work  more 
than  for  daily  bread  ?  Why  do  they  travel  to  the 
waste  places  of  the  earth,  run  into  danger  and  face 
death  ?  Why  do  they  not  take  the  rest  they  want  ? 
A  woman  or  a  child  or  children;  that  is  the  answer.' 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence,  drawing  her  brows 
together.  'Is  that  so  always?' 

'I  think  so,  nearly  always.' 

'It  is  not  for  money,  not  for  fame?' 

He  shook  his  head.  'It  is  women  who  care 
for  these,  not  men.  Men  care  for  work  some- 
times, but  never  for  the  reward  of  work  beyond  a 
simple  measure,  except ' 

'Except  ?' 

'To  give  away/ 

'To  whom  ?' 

'To  women.' 

'You  know  that  it  is  so  with  the  Professor?' 

'I  know  nothing.  I  only  guess.  Yet  I  think 
I  am  not  wrong.' 

For  a  time  they  sat  in  silence,  then  he  continued : 

'I  had  a  talk  with  him  this  morning.  We  were 
on  deck  together  long  before  breakfast.  It  is  the 
glory  of  the  day,  the  sunrising  hour.  He  came  and 
sat  by  me,  and  he  reproached  me.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  67 

'Why  did  he  do  that?' 

'He  said  we  English  were  so  insular,  that  every 
one  made  friends  except  us;  we  live  upon  an  island 
and  we  make  islands  of  ourselves.  We  make  a  cold 
and  misty  sea  about  our  personalities.  Yes,  it  is 
true.' 

'Why  should  it  be  true  ?' 

'  Partly,  perhaps,  the  force  of  habit.  In  England, 
now,  all  society  is  organized  in  strata.  All  our 
acquaintance  lies  on  our  own  level.  We  never 
know  those  who  are  above  us  or  beneath.  We 
know  that  they  exist,  and  that  is  all.  Therefore 
we  become  extraordinarily  narrow.  We  are  in 
touch  only  with  one  form  of  life  and  thought,  so 
that  we  come  to  think  that  is  the  absolute.  What- 
ever differs  from  that  is  wrong.' 

'Yet,'  said  the  girl  slowly,  'it  is  the  people  that 
differ  from  us  who  make  the  colour  of  our  lives/ 

'Nothing  could  be  more  true  than  that,'  he  an- 
swered; 'and  more,  they  make  our  lives  the  wider, 
they  make  us  realise  ourselves  the  more.' 

'Ourselves?'  she  asked.  'How  does  it  make  us 
realise  ourselves  ?' 

'Because,'  he  answered,  'they  are  part  of  us, 
part  of  ourselves.' 

She  looked  at  him.  'How  can  that  be?  I  do 
not  understand.' 


68  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'You  know,'  he  said,  'the  Eastern  way  of  looking 
at  the  world.  They  see  it  whole.  We  all  belong 
to  one  great  life,  as  all  water-drops  are  of  the  sea. 
Therefore  every  one  and  all  life  is  part  of  our  wider 
self/ 

'It  is  hard  to  understand,'  she  answered. 

'It  is  not  so  hard,'  he  answered,  'if  you  realise 
that  every  one  has  within  him  a  little  of  every  one 
else.  We  have  all  our  speciality,  but  we  have  also 
a  little  of  every  one  else's.  A  man  may  be,  say,  a 
soldier.  That  is  his  outstanding  quality;  but  he 
has  a  little  of  the  priest,  the  merchant,  the  artisan, 
the  statesman,  the  thief,  the  labourer,  the  convict. 
He  may  be  brave,  he  has  within  him  something  of 
the  coward;  he  may  be  upright,  he  has  a  touch  of 
dishonesty.' 

'And  so  with  women  ?' 

'So  with  women.  Nay,  more,  man  may  be 
man,  he  has  a  touch  of  woman,  and  she  of  man. 
All  nature  is  akin  to  us  because  we  have  in  us  some- 
thing of  all  nature.  She  cannot  strike  a  note  but 
what  we  have  the  echo.' 

'If  that  were  so,'  she  said,  'that  all  the  world 
is  part  of  us,  we  should  love  all  the  world.  Yet 
we  have  hates.' 

He  shook  his  head.  'Do  not  we  hate  ourselves 
sometimes  ?  Is  there  in  all  the  world  anything 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  69 

that  we  hate  so  much  as  sometimes  we  hate  a  thing 
within  ourselves  ?' 

She  looked  across  the  sea  and  did  not  answer. 

'Therefore,'  he  said,  'in  trying  to  understand  other 
people  we  are  really  trying  to  understand  something 
that  is  also  in  ourselves.  We  all  contain  all  pos- 
sibilities.' 

'Would  it  not,'  she  answered,  'be  easier  to  under- 
stand these  in  ourselves  ?' 

'No  one,'  he  answered,  'ever  understood  himself. 
That  is  the  last  thing  possible.  You  might  as  well 
pull  yourself  from  a  river  by  catching  your  own 
hair.' 

She  laughed.  'I  think  some  one  did  that  once, 
did  he  not?' 

'Baron  Munchausen  did.' 

She  laughed  again.  'I  hear  the  luncheon  bell/ 
she  said. 

The  passengers  all  lunched  on  deck  at  two  long 
tables.  It  was  pleasanter  far  than  in  the  hot  saloon. 
They  sat  just  as  they  wished,  or  as  luck  seated  them. 
They  were  not  bound  by  any  iron  rule.  Therefore 
the  meals  were  pleasant  and  full  of  change. 

The  early  afternoon  passed  in  a  half-dream. 
The  hot  sun  gave  a  drowsiness,  the  glowing  hour 
a  peace.  Then  they  woke  up  for  tea,  which  Mrs. 
Holman  made  for  her  own  party. 


7o  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

To  them  were  added  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham, 
and  the  seven  became  almost  a  family.  They  drew 
together  naturally  as  like  to  like.  They  sat  together? 
talked  together,  and  after  tea  the  men  played  bridge. 

And  so  they  dropped  into  the  ship  routine,  which 
consists  of  doing  nothing  in  long  pleasant  intervals, 
with  meals  for  commas  and  nights  for  periods. 

No  one  does  anything  on  board  a  ship.  You 
cannot.  You  have  no  privacy  and  no  quiet.  Yet 
you  are  not  idle,  for  the  ship  works  for  you.  Its 
heart  is  ever  beating  and  its  arms  are  waving.  That 
is  enough  for  all.  Then  the  sea  calls  your  eyes  and 
thoughts  to  it,  to  far-off  vague  indefinable  things 
that  have  no  substance,  dreams  that  have  no  waking, 
questions  that  have  no  answer. 

The  hours  pass  over  as  the  seas  pass  under  you 
and  leave  no  mark. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THAT  night  was  dark,  for  a  light  mist  had  blown 
across  the  sky  and  hid  the  stars.  The  sea  looked 
black,  but  little  phosphorescent  touches  where  it 
broke  relieved  its  sombreness.  It  surged  against 
the  side,  rising  and  falling  in  unbroken  rhythm. 

The  decks  were  nearly  empty,  for  it  was  late. 
Within  the  smoking-room  a  few  men  lingered. 
Two  women  stood  at  the  companion-door,  their 
figures  clear  against  the  light,  and  near  the  rail 
a  man  was  sitting.  Another  man  came  from  the 
darkness,  drew  a  chair  forward,  and  sat  down  by 
him. 

'I  thought  that  you  had  gone  to  bed,'  said  Holt. 

'I  thought  the  same  of  you.  But  you  were  not 
in  the  cabin,  so  I  came  up  again.' 

'What  think  you  of  the  voyage  ?' 

'I  think  it  may  be  pleasant.' 

'So  think  I.  We  have  no  sweepstakes  on  the  run; 
we  have  no  quoits.  We  are  not  tyrannised  over  by 
young  men  and  girls  who  want  to  have  "a  jolly 
time."  The  ship  is  slow,  but  will  get  there  some 
time,  and  any  time  is  time  enough.' 

71 


7a  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'I  want/  said  Warden,  'to  make  a  compact  with 
you.' 

The  other  was  silent.  Somehow  the  words  im- 
plied that  everything  was  not  well.  Warden  went 
on: 

'The  voyage  is  pleasant;  we  are  all  good  friends. 
So  the  beginning  is  of  happy  omen.  I  want  the  end 
to  be  so.' 

'Why  should  it  not  be  so  ?' 

'  It  will  be  so,  only  let  us  have  an  understanding  — 
shall  we  ?' 

Holt  moved  a  little  in  his  chair.  A  strong  sense  of 
discomfort  took  him.  Why  put  in  words  that  which 
is  best  unsaid  ?  His  silence  carried  with  it  opposition 
to  something,  he  knew  not  what. 

'Listen,'  said  Warden.  'We  have  been  but  two 
days  together  —  one  day  in  Venice,  one  day  on  board. 
We  are  good  friends  already  because  we  think  that 
we  have  met  before,  and  yet  there  is  between  us  a 
difficulty  rising.  If  we  let  it  rise ' 

'I  know  of  none.' 

'Yet  there  is  one.     It  is  the  girl.' 

'Do  not  you  think,'  said  Holt,  'that  it  is  better 
not  to  talk  of  women  ? ' 

'It  is  a  rule,  and  a  good  rule,  but  every  rule  has 
its  exception.  Do  not  misunderstand  me.  Let  me 
tell  you  what  I  mean  before  you  jump  to  a  conclusion.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  73 

'Very  well.     Speak  on.' 

'We  both  like  her.  It  is  natural  we  should. 
We  like  to  talk  to  her  and  sit  beside  her.  The 
voyage  affords  us  opportunity.  There  is  enough 
for  both.' 

He  stopped  and  smiled.  'Let  us  play  fair.  Why 
should  we  compete  ?  It  makes  discomfort  for  us 
both  and  her.  A  girl  must  hate  to  see  two  men  in 
rivalry  for  her  favour  as  if  she  were  a  bone  and  they 
two  dogs.' 

Holt  wondered  if  it  were  so. 

'I  do  not  suppose,'  continued  Warden,  'that 
either  you  or  I  have  any  other  object  than  to  pass 
a  pleasant  hour.  I  am  not  inferring  anything. 
We  like  her  company,  possibly  she  likes  ours.  Let 
us  share  and  share  alike.' 

Holt  was  relieved.  'Certainly,'  he  said,  'and 
I  agree.  To-day  is  mine,  to-morrow  yours,  and  the 
next  day  mine  again  ?' 

'Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean.' 

'Of  course,'  said  Holt,  'it  does  not  bind  her. 
She  can  talk  to  either  of  us  or  neither  of  us,  or 
talk  to  both  of  us  at  once.' 

'Of  course.  But  give  her  a  fair  chance,  and  let 
us  give  each  other  fair  chances  also.'  He  stopped  a 
moment. 

'Suppose,'   said   Holt,   'I   were   in   love  with   her 


74 


ONE   IMMORTALITY 


or  thought  I  might  be,  or  it  was  so  with  you,  would 
we  then  make  a  compact  ?  Is  not  a  woman  for 
the  winning?' 

'The  prize  of  victory  ?' 

'Yes.  Would  he  not  be  a  laggard  who  gave 
up  the  fight  ?  Races  are  not  won  by  walking  all  in 
line.' 

'If  it  were  so/  said  Warden,  'that  both  of  us  were 
in  love  with  her,  as  we  are  not,  still  it  would  make 
no  difference.  Love  is  not  a  fight.' 

'In  the  old  days  men  carried  off  their  loves.' 

'No  one,  in  days  of  old  or  ever,  carried  off  a  girl 
who  was  unwilling,  unless  he  was  a  madman.  Flight 
was  a  weapon  not  against  the  woman,  but  against 
that  which  kept  the  woman  from  the  man.  Theirs 
is  the  decision.  Men  may  fight;  the  woman  gives 
the  prize  to  whom  she  wills  —  to  the  last  or  to  the 
first.' 

And  Holt  knew  that  it  was  true.  A  woman  is  not 
won.  Because  she  is  not  won  she  is  the  greater 
treasure.  That  which  we  earn  or  take  we  do  not 
care  for,  that  which  is  given  us  free  is  what  we  prize. 
Love  is  a  gift.  It  has  no  price.  A  man  would  give 
everything  in  the  world  for  love,  but  it  would  be 
utterly  contemned. 

'  I  do  not  know,'  said  Warden,  '  if  you  are  in  love 
with  her  or  ever  will  be.  I  do  not  know  if  I  shall 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  75 

ever  be.  I  am  not  a  marrying  man;  my  regiment 
is  my  home.  But  if  we  should  be,  then  the  decision 
still  will  rest  with  her.  Our  compact  has  no  refer- 
ence to  that  or  could  affect  it.  But  it  will  preserve 
our  friendship  and  make  things  pleasanter  all  round.' 

Holt  looked  across  the  night.  Far  off  a  steamer 
passed,  her  lights  a  fallen  constellation  on  the  sea. 

'So  be  it.' 

Then  they  sat  and  smoked  in  silence.  A  peace 
was  on  them  and  a  comradeship  that  came  from 
that  forgotten  past.  Let  the  future  hold  what  it 
might,  the  past  and  present  would  be  true. 

Yet  when  he  was  alone  and  Warden  gone,  his 
thoughts  came  back  and  troubled  him. 

What  had  Warden  meant  ?  Nothing,  perhaps, 
except  just  what  he  said,  that  any  sort  of  competition 
for  a  girl's  favour,  for  her  company,  is  in  bad  form. 
He  had  not  inferred  he  was  in  love  with  her,  and 
indeed  he  showed  no  signs  of  it,  nor  that  Holt  was. 
Perhaps,  too,  if  he  had  thought  Holt  was  he 
would  have  feared  to  touch  the  subject.  He  had 
spoken  in  all  frankness.  And  yet  his  words  had 
roused  ideas  he  had  not  meant. 

Holt  looked  into  the  night  as  if  the  dark  might 
hold  some  sign  for  him,  with  mental  eyes  he  tried 
to  see  into  himself. 

Was   he   in   love  ?     Was  the   discomfort  that   he 


76  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

felt  the  stirring  of  the  pool,  and  was  this  girl  the 
angel  ? 

He  knew  that  he  had  never  loved  before.  Women 
had  drawn  him  for  a  moment  and  then  passed 
into  forgetfulness.  Perhaps  she  also  would  do 
so.  And  yet  she  was  not  as  the  others.  Love  ? 
What  was  love;  how  should  one  know  if  it 
had  come  ?  How  did  she  differ  from  those  other 
women  who  had  come  and  gone  ?  Her  eyes  were 
clear  and  soft,  but  so  were  many  women's.  Her 
cheeks  were  full  and  fair,  her  round  red  lips  made 
for  the  kissing.  But  so  were  the  cheeks  and  lips 
of  many  women.  All  this  might  be,  must  be  a 
part  of  love.  It  could  not  be  the  whole. 

What  then  was  love  ? 

Was  it  that  the  girl  was  clever,  witty,  that  she 
talked  and  made  him  talk  and  think  ? 

He  did  not  know  if  she  was  clever  or  was  not. 
He  did  not  care.  She  did  not  talk.  He  remem- 
bered now  that  she  said  little.  Though  he  tried 
he  could  not  remember  anything  she  had  said,  nor 
did  she  make  him  think. 

Her  presence  troubled  him.  When  he  sat  beside 
her  his  heart  beat  quicker  and  his  breath  was  hotter. 
His  brain  was  full  of  things  that  came  and  went  and 
had  no  shape,  like  winds  that  blew  across  the  sea. 
Was  this  love  ? 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  77 

Then  he  remembered  a  story  Hafiz  tells  about 
a  Sultan  and  his  favourite  page.  The  page  was 
full  of  life  and  gaiety  and  happiness.  He  made 
the  laughter  of  the  Court,  his  bright  carelessness 
was  like  a  sunbeam  in  the  palace.  The  Sultan 
would  have  given  a  hundred  ministers  for  him. 
He  disappeared. 

The  Court  was  dull  without  the  page,  the  Sultan 
sent  throughout  the  city.  'Where  is  the  Sultan's 
page?'  the  heralds  cried  in  every  street  and  lane. 
The  Sultan  missed  him,  asked  for  him.  At  last  his 
messengers  came  back  and  said:  'The  Sultan's 
page  is  ill.  He  sits  alone  beside  the  desert  and  he 
looks  into  the  distance.  Nothing  can  move  him  and 
his  eyes  are  full  of  tears.' 

The  Sultan  called  his  Vizier.  'Let  the  hakims 
go  and  medicine  my  page,  for  he  is  ill.  He  sits 
beside  the  desert  and  his  eyes  are  closed.  Surely 
he  is  in  pain,  and  he  may  die.  Lo !  I  will  give  half 
of  my  treasure  to  him  who  brings  me  back  my  page 
such  as  he  used  to  be.' 

The  Vizier  laughed.  'The  page/  he  said,  'is  ill  in 
truth,  and  yet  no  hakims  even  of  paradise  could  cure 
him.  The  page  is  ill,  yet  he  is  happier  in  his  sickness 
than  the  well.  The  page's  eyes  have  tears,  but  they 
are  sweeter  than  all  laughter  in  the  world.  He  hath 
in  truth  a  sickness,  but  he  will  not  die/ 


78  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'It  is  some  madness,'  said  the  Sultan. 

'It  is  some  madness.  There  is  mystery  in  his 
head  and  in  his  heart  a  flame.' 

'Whence  comes  this  fire  and  mist?'  the  Sultan 
asked. 

The  Vizier  laughed  again.     'They  call  it  love.' 

The  Sultan  sighed.  'My  page  is  lost  to  me,' 
he  said.  'Never  again  will  he  be  what  he  was.' 

They  call  it  love.  They  give  a  name  to  that 
which  no  man  understands.  They  call  it  love,  as 
if  that  were  an  answer. 

The  ship  had  passed.  Its  lights  had  died  into 
the  distance.  The  mists  that  veiled  the  heavens  had 
cleared,  and  overhead  Orion  hung  his  belt.  The 
distances  reopened. 

Then  what  is  love  ? 

The  surges  rose  and  fell.  They  dashed  against 
the  side.  The  ocean  sang  its  everlasting  song. 

'I  know  what  love  is.  Who  shall  know  but  I? 
He  who  would  learn  must  ask  me.  I  am  love; 
the  sea  that  rolls  about  the  world  and  beats  on  all  the 
shores  is  love  incarnate,  love  and  hate,  and  hope  and 
fear,  and  birth  and  death,  for  all  are  one.  Myriads 
of  drops  have  died  in  me  and  from  them  I  am  born. 
Alone  what  life  is  in  a  drop  of  water;  in  a  man,  a 
woman  ?  Each  must  die  and  win  thereby  a  wider 
life,  and  so  the  sea  is  born,  the  sea  of  immortality. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  79 

'You  ask  me  what  is  love  ?  It  is  that  force  that 
drains  two  drops  to  one  and  in  the  end  all  to  the 
sea.' 

That  is  the  ocean  song. 

He  listened  and  he  understood.  'If  that  be 
love,'  he  said,  'I  will  not  love.  Why  should  I 
lose  myself?  How  shall  I  know,  be  sure,  that  by 
so  losing  I  should  find  my  wider  self?  And  is  it 
true  that  man's  love  to  a  woman  is  but  the  begin- 
ning of  an  ever-widening  love  ?  Why  should  I 
give  myself?  I  do  not  and  I  will  not.  I  will  not.' 

What  makes  the  twinkle  in  the  stars  when  they 
look  down  on  men  ? 


CHAPTER  X 

'Do  you  know,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'we  all  have 
names  ?' 

The  girl  looked  up.  'What  sort  of  names,  and 
who  gave  them  to  us  ? ' 

'Ship  names,  and  it  seems  the  giver  is  Captain 
Warden,  or  he  and  Mr.  Holt  together.' 

'What  do  they  call  us  ? ' 

'The  Indian  girl  they  call  "the  little  Princess." 
That  is  a  good  name.  She  has  a  dignity  and  grace.' 

Miss  Ormond  nodded.  'I  like  her,  she  is  so 
quiet  and  yet  so  clever.' 

'Her  two  admirers  they  call  Hamlet  and  Othello. 
Hamlet  because  he  is  a  Dane,  Othello  because 
he  comes  from  Venice  and  has  a  dark  complexion, 
also  it  appears  because  he  is  jealous.' 

'Has  she  admirers?'  asked  Miss  Ormond. 

'You  have  no  eyes,  my  dear.  They  follow  her 
about.  They  are  in  competition  for  her  favour. 
She  is  amused  at  them.' 

The  girl  was  silent,  thinking.  There  seemed  to 
her  something  jarring  in  the  eternal  pursuit  by 
men  of  women.  Had  women  then  no  peace  unless 

80 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  81 

they  were  ugly  ?  And  did  men  only  care  for  them 
to  make  love  to  ? 

'And  then,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'these  imper- 
tinent men  have  named  us,  too.  Harry  and  I  are 
Darby  and  Joan,  and  you  they  call  "the  girl." 

'"The  girl"?'  she  asked;  '"the  girl"?  Is 
that  a  name  ?  It  has  no  special  meaning.' 

'It  has,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'a  meaning  per- 
haps more  special  than  any  of  the  others/ 

'I  think  it  rude,'  she  answered,  'to  give  names.' 

The  annoyance  was  but  momentary  and  passed. 
Mrs.  Holman  went  below  and  she  was  left  alone. 
She  looked  along  the  decks  at  the  people  sitting 
in  twos  or  threes,  and  Holt's  talk  of  yesterday 
returned.  Then  every  one  who  lives  has,  if  he 
knew  it,  something  different  from  all  the  rest, 
something  the  world  has  need  of.  Every  one  is 
part  of  a  great  whole.  The  life  of  every  one  has 
in  it  some  special  meaning.  The  meaning  may  be 
great  or  small.  We  may  have  many  talents  or  but 
one.  All  of  us  have  at  least  one  talent,  and  the 
world  has  need  of  that.  What  special  meaning 
had  each  of  these  people  who  looked  for  the  most 
part  so  plain  and  commonplace  ?  If  there  was  any, 
it  was  well  hidden.  The  men,  she  could  under- 
stand, might  have  each  a  meaning  in  that  each  had 
his  work  which  the  world  needed.  But  the  women  ? 


82  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

As  far  as  she  could  see  no  woman  had  a  meaning 
except  to  one  man.  There  were  exceptions,  maybe 
a  Florence  Nightingale,  a  Rosa  Bonheur;  but  of 
all  the  women  on  the  ship,  which  had  any  meaning 
to  the  world  ?  They  were  wives  of  men,  called  by 
their  husband's  names,  branded  as  belonging  to 
men.  Had  women  then  never  any  value  in  them- 
selves, did  they  mean  nothing  ?  Did  she  herself 
mean  nothing  except  that  she  might  some  day  be 
a  man's  wife  ?  Was  life  so  empty  and  so  narrow  ? 
Beside  the  lifeboat,  in  a  corner  kept  always  for  them, 
sat  the  five  nuns.  There  rested  on  them  a  sense  of 
calm  and  dignity.  They  looked  quite  happy  as 
they  read,  or  talked  in  short,  slow  sentences.  No 
man  was  near  them.  They  were  meant  for  no  man. 
They  lived  their  lives  apart.  What  was  their  mean- 
ing to  the  world  ?  Or  was  it  that  they  had  drawn 
from  out  the  world  because  they  had  no  meaning 
for  it  nor  it  for  them. 

The  youngest  Sister,  Cecilia,  caught  her  look 
and  smiled  an  invitation.  The  girl  drew  her  chair 
beside  them. 

'You  are  so  quiet,'  she  said;  'nothing  troubles 
you.' 

'There  is  nothing  to  trouble  us.  Perhaps  it 
bothers  you  that  the  ship  is  so  slow.  Perhaps  you 
are  in  a  hurry  to  get  somewhere.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  83 

'No,'  said  the  girl,  'I  do  not  care;  I  am  not  going 
anywhere  in  particular,  and  I  don't  care  how  long 
it  takes.  I  have  nothing  to  do  there  nor  anywhere/ 

The  Sister  looked  at  her.  'That  is  the  differ- 
ence. We  know  whither  we  go,  and  it  is  not  the 
ship  that  takes  us.  Whether  she  is  still  or  travels 
we  go  forward  to  our  end.' 

The  girl  was  silent.  She  knew  what  the  nun 
meant.  Their  lives  were  directed  towards  some 
object,  towards  some  end,  and  no  matter  where 
their  bodies  were,  their  souls  travelled  always  to  it. 

'Is  it  a  pleasant  end?' 

'Surely.'  The  Sister  looked  up  and  smiled, 
and  in  her  eyes  there  was  a  certainty  of  happiness 
and  content. 

'Tell  me,  where  are  you  going?' 

Another  Sister  answered,  the  eldest  Sister,  Teresa, 
who  was  in  charge  of  the  party.  Perhaps  she  did 
not  know  what  the  question  meant.  Perhaps  she 
wished  to  avoid  the  deeper  meaning. 

'We  are  not  all  going  together  to  the  same  place. 
We  separate  at  Bombay  and  go  to  different  convents, 
some  in  Bengal,  some  elsewhere.  Sister  Cecilia 
goes  to  Calcutta,  but  I  to  the  west  coast  of  Madras.' 

'Have  you  been  there  before?' 

She  shook  her  head.  'None  of  us  have  been  there, 
or  we  should  not  be  on  board.' 


84  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Then  you  will  not  return?' 

Both  Sisters  shook  their  heads,  and  it  seemed 
for  the  moment  as  if  a  sadness  took  them  as  when 
a  cloud  veils  the  sun. 

For,  after  all,  to  every  one  who  lives  there  is  a 
country  and  a  people.  Whatever  you  may  be, 
whatever  your  end  in  life,  nothing  will  alter  that, 
will  make  you  quite  forget  it,  will  stop  the  strong 
desire  for  home.  And  to  leave  home  for  ever,  to 
know  and  realise  it  is  for  ever,  that  never  more  will 
your  eyes  behold  its  light,  never  more  will  you  hear 
its  voices,  brings  heaviness  to  the  heart.  But  it 
passed  and  the  light  returned. 

'It  is  very  hot  on  the  coast  of  Malabar,'  said  Sister 
Teresa.  'It  is  hot  for  all  the  year.  It  is  never 
cool.  For  myself,  I  like  the  heat/  She  laughed. 

'Where  I  go,'  said  Sister  Cecilia,  'it  is  cool  in 
winter,  but  in  the  summer  it  is  hotter  than  on  her 
side.  So  it  comes  to  the  same  thing.' 

'  And  you  go  to  convert  the  people  ? ' 

Both  Sisters  shook  their  heads.  'We  are  not 
missionaries.  That  is  men's  work;  it  is  for  priests 
and  not  for  us.  We  go  to  live  our  lives;  that  is  the 
first  thing,  and  then  we  have  schools  for  the  little 
girls  and  try  to  teach  them  what  we  can.  It  makes 
life  better.' 

'I   am   sorry,'   said  the   girl;    'I   did   not   know. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  85 

I  never  talked  to  nuns  before.  I  only  heard  of 
them.' 

'Not  always  good,  perhaps/ 

The  girl  coloured.  'Perhaps  those  who  told 
me  did  not  know  much  either.  I  always  supposed 
you  were  unhappy.' 

'Are  we  unhappy?' 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  '  I  never  saw  any  people 
so  happy  as  you  seem.' 

'Say  as  we  are.' 

'I  am  sure  it  is  "as  you  are.": 

'Why  should  we  be  unhappy  ?'  asked  the  younger 
Sister. 

'I  do  not  know,  only  I  supposed  from  what  I 

was  told '  She  began  to  feel  uncomfortable, 

but  a  look  at  the  Sisters  reassured  her.  They  were 
amused  and  not  offended  —  amused  as  a  grown 
person  is  with  a  child's  misunderstandings.  Yet 
even  Sister  Teresa  was  not  much  older  than  she 
was. 

'Because  we  were  here?' 

'That  was  one  reason.' 

'  Because  we  had  renounced  the  pleasures  of  the 
world?' 

'Yes,  and  because ' 

'Because  we  had  no  husbands?' 

The  girl  blushed,  but  the  nuns  were  full  of  merri- 


86  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

ment.  It  touched  them  as  a  summer  breeze  touches 
a  lake,  calling  up  ripples. 

'Yes,'  she  said,  gaining  courage,  'because  of  all 
these  things,  and  I  supposed  no  one  became  a  nun 
except  from  some  disappointment. 

'I  have  been  told  that  women  ought  to  marry, 
that  there  is  nothing  else  for  them  to  do.  If  then 
they  become  nuns,  it  is  because  they  have  failed  in 
some  way  of  their  only  end/ 

'And  become  nuns  to  hide  themselves  and  make 
the  best  of  it?'  Sister  Teresa  laughed. 

'Yes,  or  because  they  had  to;  because  they  were 
forced.' 

The  Sisters  became  more  serious,  as  if  though 
they  could  afford  to  laugh  at  the  first  idea  the  last 
were  unkind  and  bitter.  They  lowered  their  faces. 
And  the  girl  became  unhappy  again.  She  had 
offended  them  because  she  had  said  the  truth. 
But  Sister  Teresa  raised  her  face  and  said :  '  Do 
you  think  that  I  was  forced?' 

The  girl  looked  at  her,  looked  in  her  eyes,  so 
clear  and  so  serene,  at  the  expression  of  her  face, 
where  self-mastery  and  courage  and  content  were 
clearly  written.  She  turned  to  Sister  Cecilia  and 
read  the  same  things  there,  and  she  found  her 
answer. 

'No!'  she  said  clearly  and  assuredly. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  87 

'It  was  because  you  did  not  understand,'  they 
answered  kindly;  and  a  great  desire  came  upon 
her  to  understand. 

At  first  she  had  been  half-afraid  of  the  nuns, 
fearing  that  they  would  try  to  convert  her  —  make 
her  into  a  Catholic,  if  not  a  nun  herself.  She  had 
doubted  if  it  were  safe  to  be  friends  with  them; 
she  kept  on  her  guard  as  against  an  insidious  foe. 
But  when  she  herself  had  come  and  talked  to  them 
they  never  spoke  of  religion  at  all,  and  even  now 
when  she  opened  the  subject  they  were  almost  shy; 
they  did  not  respond.  They  turned  the  subject, 
talking  of  Ireland,  from  which  most  of  them  had 
come  originally;  of  France,  where  they  had  been  in 
convents;  of  the  ship  life,  of  India,  of  everything 
but  their  beliefs.  Far  from  pressing  them  upon 
her  they  kept  them  hidden,  as  if  they  possessed  a 
great  treasure  which  they  were  proud  of,  indeed  as 
the  conspicuousness  of  their  dress  showed,  but  which 
they  desired  to  keep  to  themselves,  lest  it  should  be 
profaned  by  vulgar  touch  or  sight. 

Yet  as  inevitably  as  a  needle  to  the  North  the 
girl  came  back  to  what  she  wished  to  know. 

'I  would  like  to  understand,'  she  said. 

But  they  were  silent,  sewing  quietly. 

'  Will  you  not  tell  me  ? ' 

Sister   Teresa    raised    her    face    and    looked.     In 


88  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

the  girl's  face  there  was  a  trouble,  there  was  a 
need. 

'Will  you  not  tell  me  ?'  she  asked  again. 

'I  do  not  know,'  and  the  Sister  shook  her  head. 
'You  are  not  of  our  religion.  You  have  your  own.' 

'Mine  tells  me  only  that  women  ought  to  marry/ 

'A  priest  could  tell  you  better.  We  are  only 
simple  women.' 

'  I  do  not  ask  it  of  your  religion,  but  of  you/  and 
woman's  eyes  looked  into  woman's  eyes.  'A  woman 
can  tell  a  woman.  I  do  not  want  the  ideas  of  a  man, 
whether  he  be  priest  or  layman,  but  a  woman's.' 

The  Sister  was  troubled.  Her  heart  went  out 
towards  the  girl,  and  yet  her  words  repelled  her. 
'Truth  is  truth,'  she  thought,  'whether  man  or 
woman  say  it,  and  the  Church's  truth  is  in  the 
Church.' 

'Why  should  you  wish  to  know,'  she  asked,  'and 
what  ?  Do  not  you  know  what  nuns  are  ?' 

'No!'  the  girl  replied.  'I  do  not  know.  It 
is  true  that  I  have  been  told,  but  I  see  now  that 
what  I  was  told  was  wrong.' 

'I  am  glad  of  that,'  the  Sister  answered.  'Yes, 
what  is  told  is  often  wrong,  but  what  is  seen  and 
is  felt  is  true.  The  mind  seeks  always,  but  it  is 
the  heart  alone  that  finds.' 

'Why  are  you  all  so  happy  ?' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  89 

The  Sister  smiled.  'I  might  answer  you  in 
two  ways.  I  might  say  as  a  Catholic  and  as  a 
Sister  that  we  are  happy  because  we  trust  in  God 
and  know  Him,  because  we  have  given  ourselves 
to  Him  and  He  has  given  His  peace  to  us.  I  might 
tell  you  that  and  it  would  be  true,  yet  you  would  not 
understand.' 

'Because  I  am  not  a  Catholic  ?' 

'Not  for  that  reason  only.  There  are  many 
Catholic  women  of  whom  but  few  have  given  them- 
selves to  religion,  and  those  who  have  not  know  as 
little  of  our  secret  as  you  do.  There  are  Sisters  in 
other  faiths  who  feel  as  we  do  —  not,  perhaps,  all 
our  happiness,  but  some  of  it.' 

'Is  it  then  because  you  are  Sisters  and  have 
renounced  all  that  the  world  holds  worth  the  having 
that  you  are  happy?' 

'No !  It  is  not  what  we  have  renounced  but  what 
we  have  gained  that  makes  us  happy.  And  yet 
that  gain  is  not  for  all,  for  if  that  were  true  then 
should  all  women  be  as  we  are ! ' 

'And  they  should  not?' 

The  Sister  shook  her  head. 

'What  is  the  secret  then  of  happiness  ?' 

'There  is  no  universal  secret.  Do  you  think 
one  truth  suffices  for  all  women  or  all  men  ?  The 
world  is  various,  and  to  every  one  there  is  a  truth 


9o  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

never  quite  the  same  as  that  of  others.  There  is 
a  ray  of  light  that,  added  to  the  others,  makes  the 
white  light  of  God.  No  one  can  tell  you  what  yours 
is/ 

'How  can  I  learn  ?' 

'It  is  in  your  own  heart,  in  the  heart  of  every 
man  and  every  woman.  There  only  will  you  find 
it.  How  to  find  it  and  keep  it  is  the  secret  of  all 
happiness.  Look  at  the  happy  men  and  women ! 
It  is  they  who  know  that  they  keep  their  truth/ 

'And  truth  is  many?' 

'Truths,  could  we  see  them,  are  very  many, 
yet  in  the  end  all  truth  is  One.  All  truths  are 
necessary  to  the  Truth.' 

'If  you  are  happy,  then  it  is  because  God  has 
put  it  into  your  heart  to  renounce  the  world  and 
men  and  pleasure,  and  live  the  lives  you  do  ?  There 
is  no  virtue  in  the  life  itself,  or  in  the  deeds,  or  in 
the  sacrifice  of  self?' 

'Not  unless  it  is  in  your  heart  to  do  it.  Some 
women  are  born  to  be  married  and  have  children; 
they  keep  their  truth  in  doing  so,  and  it  would  be 
for  them  a  sin  to  be  as  we  are.  But  others  as  our- 
selves have  put  into  our  hearts  a  love  for  Christ 
alone,  and  we  would  never  let  another  love  replace 
it.' 

'A  lower  love  ?' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  91 

'My  dear,  there  is  no  higher  and  no  lower.  For 
every  truth  is  true.' 

The  girl  was  silent,  thinking.  She  felt  a  dis- 
appointment. She  sought  to  have  a  truth  given 
to  her,  and  she  was  told  to  find  it  for  herself.  How 
should  she  find  it  ?  How  should  she  know  ? 

Sister  Teresa  read  her  thoughts,  as  she  had  read 
those  of  other  women  before  her. 

'You  thought,'  she  said,  'that  we  should  advise 
you  to  be  a  nun  yourself,  and  we  do  not  do  so.  You 
asked  us  for  our  secret,  and  we  have  given  you 
nothing.' 

'You  have  made  me  think.' 

'You  will  not  find  a  truth  in  thinking/ 

'I  want  to  know  what  I  should  do  in  life,  how  I 
should  find  its  happiness.' 

'And  you  thought  we  could  tell  you?' 

'Yes.     You  have  it.' 

'We  have  it,  but  so  have  others.  Mrs.  Holman 
has  it;  ask  her  the  secret.' 

'She  is  married.' 

'  And  you  do  not  want  to  marry  ?' 

'I  think  not.' 

'Some  day  you  will  be  sure,  one  way  or  another. 
The  true  things  in  life  are  those  that  are  inevitable. 
If,  indeed,  God  has  made  you  to  be  a  nun,  He  will 
tell  you  so.  If  He  means  you  to  marry,  He  will 


92  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

tell  you  so.  In  the  great  things  of  life  never  act 
until  you  must,  until  you  cannot  help  it.  No  one 
can  tell  you  the  secret  of  happiness  but  God.' 

It  was  their  hour  for  evening  prayers,  and  the 
nuns  rose  up  and  went  away.  But  the  girl  sat 
still.  How  hard  life  was,  and  how  could  one  ever 
know  what  it  was  right  to  do  ?  The  Sister  said 
that  truth  would  come,  her  heart  would  tell  her; 
but  so  far  her  heart  said  only  No.  Suppose  it 
always  kept  on  saying  No,  she  might  as  well  be  a 
limpet  on  a  rock  that  even  the  tides  cannot  move. 
And  of  what  value  would  be  such  a  life  ? 


CHAPTER  XI 

ONE  day  they  came  on  deck  to  find  the  ship  was 
motionless.  Her  engines  had  broken  down,  and 
so  she  lay  like  some  great  wounded  thing  upon  the 
sea.  A  light  wind  blew,  and  the  little  waves  came 
racing  up  to  see  her,  wondering  what  was  this 
black  and  ugly  thing  that  lay  so  still,  that  was 
dead  they  thought.  They  raised  their  heads  to 
look  at  her;  they  laughed,  they  splashed  their  spray 
upon  her  in  derision.  And  then  they  danced  away 
gaily,  joyfully,  singing  their  ocean  song,  and  glanc- 
ing back  in  mockery  over  their  lucent  shoulders  at 
the  uncanny  monster. 

Above  the  northern  horizon  hung  a  peak  sus- 
pended in  the  heavens.  You  could  not  see  its 
base.  The  purple  haze  was  folded  over  it  and 
hid  it;  but  in  the  clear  sky  above,  the  sharp  rock- 
summit  stood  revealed  in  clearest  outline.  The 
golden  sunlight  fell  upon  it  like  a  glory,  and  upon 
its  shoulders  fields  of  purest  snow  shone  like  a 
woman's  skin  gleaming  through  openings  of  her 
drapery. 

93 


9*  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

Bat  the  ship's  restfulness  gave  unrest  to  those 
on  board.  While  she  had  throbbed  and  moved 
they  had  been  content  to  rest,  allowing  her  move- 
ment to  stand  lor  theirs.  They  had  been  soothed, 
lulled  bj  her  action  as  children  by  a  cradle's  rock- 
ing. But  when  she  stopped,  uneasiness  attacked 
diem.  They  could  not  sit,  could  not  read,  could 
hardly  talk.  They  paced  up  and  down  as  if  to 
deceive  themselves  into  the  belief  that  they  were 
doing  something;  and  when  they  stopped  it  was  to 
gaze  at  the  island  far  away.  It  gave  their  eyes  a 
point  to  rest  on,  tired  with  the  formless  sea  and  sky, 
as  a  bird  requires  land  to  support  it  now  and  then. 

Only  the  nuns  were  quiet;  nothing  ever 
touched  their  peace.  And  the  Professor,  sitting 
in  a  long  chair  with  book  and  pencil,  seemed  full 
of  satisfaction.  He  read  a  little  and  made  notes. 
He  looked  along  the  decks  and  laughed.  He  made 
more  notes. 

'This  book,'  he  wrote,  'by  my  worthy  brother, 
Qearasmud  of  Gotringen,  is  a  painful  and  praise- 
worthy history  of  primitive  marriage  customs.  He 
has  read,  he  has  collected,  he  has  digested,  he 
has  deduced.  It  is  a  monument  of  industry. 
Yet  had  my  learned  brother  left  his  study  in  that 
great  and  ancient  city  and  descended  into  its  streets; 
had  he,  instead  of  reading  books  on  marriage  long 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  95 

ago,  tried  to  find  out  a  little  of  marriage  to-day; 
had  he,  in  fact,  just  learned  the  psychology  of  love, 
if  not  by  painful  experience  in  himself,  yet  by  ob- 
servation, he  might  have  learned  a  good  deal  that 
would  have  prevented  him  mating  an  ass  of  himself.' 

The  Professor  put  down  his  pen  and  smiled. 
'Of  course  I  shall  have  to  alter  that  last,'  he  said 
to  himself;  'we  mustn't  call  each  other  names 
—  even  if  the  names  are  true.'  He  laughed  out 
cheerily  and  startled  Hamlet,  who  was  dozing  near 
him.  The  young  man  pulled  his  chair  round  the 
corner,  away  from  the  Professor,  with  ostentatious 
annoyance,  but  the  Professor  did  not  mind. 

'In  primitive  times,'  says  Clearasmud,  'mar- 
riage was  done  by  capture.  The  young  men  were 
forbidden  to  marry  in  their  own  dans,  and  had  to 
capture  their  wives  from  clans  that  had  other  to- 
tems. A  wolf  could  not  marry  a  wolf,  nor  a  rabbit 
marry  a  rabbit.  The  young  wolf-brave,  then, 
when  the  marriage  thirst  came  on  him,  went  out 
with  his  companions  and  waited  beside  a  stream 
or  some  such  likely  place  rill  a  squirrel  or  an  eel 
maiden  came  down  to  draw  her  family  water  or 
to  bathe.  He  jumped  out  with  fierce  cries  of  love; 
she  ran;  he  pursued  with  his  companions.  The 
girl  doubled,  dodged,  hid;  but  finally  her  lover 
overtook  her,  and  then  after  ralming  her  cries  and 


96  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

agitation  with  his  club,  he  dragged  her  off  by  the 
hair.  Such  was  the  primitive  marriage  by  cap- 
ture. It  was  unromantic.'  The  Professor  laughed 
again,  but  he  had  his  corner  to  himself. 

'He  writes  ingeniously,'  he  remarked;  'he  argues 
with  great  subtlety.  He  is  not  unworthy  as  an 
antagonist.  He  puts  the  deduction  first,  and  states 
it  as  a  fact.  Then  he  takes  his  tiny  misobserved 
fact  and  adds  it  on  behind.  Thus  he  appears  to 
have  two  solid  facts  supporting  each  other,  when 
he  has  really  but  one  very  slender  fact  fluttering 
forlornly  at  the  tail  of  an  absurd  deduction.  No 
one  knows  that  primitive  marriage  was  as  he  says. 
It  is  a  pure  hypothesis  and  founded  on  no  facts. 
Let  us  look  at  what  he  calls  his  facts. 

'There  have  been  observed  among  semi-civilised 
people  in  various  parts  of  the  world  a  marriage 
ceremony,  or,  rather,  a  pre-marriage  ceremony, 
which,  varying  in  details,  is  much  the  same  in 
principle. 

'The  girl  on  foot  or  mounted,  accompanied  or 
not  by  other  girls,  runs  away.  The  groom  pur- 
sues. He  is  impeded  by  the  girl's  relatives,  by 
her  friends;  he  has  a  fairly  rough  time  of  it.  The 
girl  escapes,  turns,  hides;  is  often  faster  and  more 
active  than  he  is.  But  in  the  end  she  is  always 
caught.  He  captures  her  and  she  is  his. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  97 

'That  is  the  fact,  the  only  fact,  and  that  im- 
perfectly observed,  on  which  he  builds  his  theories. 
Imperfectly  observed,  for  he  has  omitted  the  be- 
ginning and  the  end  of  it.  In  the  beginning  the 
girl  lures  on  the  man  to  follow  her.  She  looks  at 
him  over  her  shoulder  as  she  runs.  So  he  pursues. 
The  end  is  also  wrong,  for  the  girl  is  never  really 
captured.  She  could  escape  had  she  the  will. 
The  groom  could  never  catch  her.  She  runs  at 
first  from  instinct,  but  she  never  really  wishes  to 
escape.  Therefore  she  does  not  run  too  fast;  she 
tires  before  he  does,  stops,  and  gives  herself  in  the 
end  always. 

'That  is  the  error  of  my  worthy  brother,  and 
it  leads  him  into  wildest  phantasy  of  common- 
place. No  madness  is  so  absurd  as  science  when 
divorced  from  feeling.  He  makes  a  theory  that 
early  men  carried  off  their  wives  by  force,  that 
before  the  ceremony  of  the  club  they  were  utter 
strangers,  that  the  woman  had  no  say  in  all  of  it. 
He  thinks  that  a  man,  even  a  savage,  is  such  an 
idiot  that  he  knows  no  better  than  to  allow  chance 
or  his  choice  alone  to  decide  who  shall  be  his  other 
half  through  life,  the  mother  of  his  children.  He 
supposes  that  women  are  built  to  forgive  brutality 
from  an  utter  stranger,  the  violence,  nay,  more,  the 
being  deprived  of  their  right  to  give  themselves, 


98  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

and  that  so  brutalised  they  would  make  wives. 
He  ignores  the  god  called  Love  that  was  from  the 
beginning,  in  animals,  in  insects,  and  in  plants.  A 
world  unknown  of  love/ 

The  Professor  laughed  again  a  hearty  laugh. 
'Dere  is  not  a  leetle  girl  but  could  tell  him  better/ 

'What  could  the  little  girl  tell  him,  Professor?' 
asked  Warden,  looking  in. 

The  Professor  winked  a  wink.  No,  it  was  not 
professional,  but  professors  are  only  men  —  at  least 
the  best  of  them  are.  And  then  the  Professor  was 
glad,  for  had  he  not  Clearasmud  on  the  hip  ?  He 
winked  and  said,  'Why  are  you  walking  to  and 
fro  so  hungry  ?' 

'Because  it  is  not  lunch-time  yet/ 

'And  tell  me,  where  is  Miss  Ormond  then  ?' 

Warden  looked  at  him  with  suspicion.  'But 
you  can  see,  Professor,  she  is  talking  to  the  nuns. 
What  do  you  want  with  her?  Is  she  the  little  girl 
who  could  tell  better?' 

'Go!  go!'  said  the  Professor.  'I  write  and 
you  disturb/ 

Warden  disappeared  and  the  Professor's  notes 
continued. 

'  My  brother  Clearasmud,  let  me  expound  to  you. 
Your  facts  are  wrong,  your  deductions  wrong,  you 
are  all  wrong.  You  think  what  you  write  of  is  of 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  99 

the  long  past,  that  it  is  history,  and  will  occur  no 
more.  You  think  that  there  is  evolution  in  mar- 
riage and  that  it  changes;  you  think  that  in  this 
matter  human  nature  has  varied.  Oh,  Clearasmud, 
were  you  never  a  student  in  Gottingen,  or  were  there 
then  no  maidens  that  you  saw  in  the  past  days  ? 
Had  you  no  eyes  ? 

*  Marriage  by  capture !  long  ago !  a  total 
stranger !  the  woman  with  no  choice  at  all !  Oh, 
Clearasmud,  even  a  beetle  could  tell  you  more 
than  all  your  history! 

'Man  loves  all  women.  You  have  observed 
that,  and  you  think  that  nothing  more  was  wanted. 
Man  had  but  to  take  the  first  woman  and  all  would 
be  well.  Nature  gave  him  this  universal  love  for 
her  own  reasons,  that  he  should  help  and  protect 
all  women.  But  marriage  is  more  than  that,  and 
is  the  product  of  a  special  love,  and  nature  wills 
that  this  love  be  proved. 

'Nature  therefore  makes  maidens  coy.  Man 
loves,  pursues;  the  maiden  runs  and  hides.  He 
stops.  She  is  not  worth  the  pursuing.  He  tries 
another  and  another.  But  they  all  run.  Then 
one  looks  back.  She  runs,  but  as  she  goes  she 
beckons.  She  does  not  stop,  for  he  must  prove 
he  loves  her  —  prove  it  to  himself  and  her.  He 
follows,  he  falls,  he  suffers;  enemies  trip  him,  hunt 


ioo  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

him,  would  kill  him,  still  he  follows.  The  girl's 
flight  has  proved  to  him  which  girl  he  really  loves. 
It  weeds  out  all  faint  and  elementary  emotions  and 
only  leaves  the  greater.  So  does  nature  tell  man 
which  woman  he  would  make  a  wife  of.  She 
makes  him  suffer  for  his  knowledge,  but  still  he 
gains  it.  And  the  girl's  running  shows  that  she  is 
innocent,  afraid;  that  she  has  had  no  former  lover, 
that  she  is  not  accepted  within  the  mystic  circle. 
She  is  a  neophyte.  She  runs,  he  follows. 

'Now  take  the  girl.  To  every  normal  girl  in 
every  normal  society,  savage  or  civilised,  there 
come  many  men,  and  of  these  men  some  are  at- 
tracted. She  repels  them,  flies  from  them;  they 
stop.  Then  comes  one  different  from  the  others. 
She  flies,  but  she  looks  back.  He  follows.  She 
hides  among  the  women,  but  looks  out.  Nature 
has  proved  to  her  that  the  man  loves  her,  and  she 
knows  that  she  loves  him  or  she  would  never  have 
looked  back  across  her  shoulder.  She  lets  herself 
be  caught;  she  gives  herself  at  last. 

'No,  Clearasmud,  you  are  wrong  if  you  think 
that  woman,  savage  or  modern,  is  to  be  stunned 
and  captured  and  then  will  make  a  faithful  wife. 
The  faithful  wives  are  those  who  give  themselves. 
There  must  be  giving  on  either  side.  There  must 
be  love  on  either  side  —  a  different  love  of  course, 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  101 

but  yet  a  love.  The  woman  is  never  passive.  If 
she  be  passive  before  marriage  she  becomes  active 
afterwards  —  in  the  wrong  way.  The  life  and 
happiness  of  man,  savage  or  civilised,  is  at  his 
wife's  mercy.  Nature  knows  that,  and  she  knows 
better  than  to  let  him  take  a  snake  to  his  bosom. 
His  instinct  will  not  let  him.  Unless  he  be  mad, 
he  tires  when  she  flies  too  far  and  fast  and  looks 
not  back  to  encourage  him  to  follow.  He  tires 
and  stops.  He  loves;  she  does  not.  That  will 
not  do.  You  want  two  yes-es  to  be  an  affirma- 
tive. So  though  she  runs  she  must  look  back  over 
her  shoulder  from  the  very  first.  She  must  let 
him  catch  her  in  the  end.  And  though  he  use  the 
club  to  complete  his  capture,  it  must  be  at  the  call 
of  her  desire,  not  his.  So,  my  unlearned  brother, 
what  you  took  to  be  a  relic  of  a  barbarian  custom 
is  nothing  of  the  sort,  it  is  a  mystery  play. 

'It  is  a  mystery  play  not  of  the  past,  but  of  all 
time;  it  has  a  truth  that  is  not  dead,  but  lives.  The 
man  who  made  this  play  knew  of  that  truth,  and 
those  who  watched  it  understood.  They  knew 
their  world.  They  knew  that  there  were  great 
true  forces,  great  true  loves  that  join  man  and 
woman  and  make  the  future  of  the  world.  This 
could  never  have  evolved  under  the  rule  of  chance. 
They  knew  and  felt  the  spirit.  But  the  heir  of 


ONE   IMMORTALITY 

all  the  ages,  Clearasmud,  sees  in  the  world  only 
the  club,  the  spear,  the  brute.  He  never  raises 
his  eyes.  So  he  has  fallen  below  the  savage,  below 
animals,  below  even  the  insects  and  the  fish.  He 
thinks  that  evolution's  God  was  chance  and  force 
in  man,  and  that  woman  has  no  God  to  care  for 
her  at  all  or  live  within  her. 
'And  that  is  science!' 

The  Professor  shut  his  note-book  with  a  bang. 
'I  wish  that  you  were  here  upon  this  ship,  my 
learned  brother,  and  I  would  make  you  see  things. 
I  would  show  you  that  what  you  think  is  of  the 
long  dead  past  is  of  the  present.  There  are  two 
mystery  plays  begun. 

'In  each  play  there  is  a  girl  and  two  men. 
'One  girl  is  English;  the  men  who  follow  her 
are  English.  She  has  looked  back  at  both  of  them,  I 
think,  though  more  perhaps  at  one  than  at  the  other. 
'The  two  men  follow.  And  now  a  fear  has 
taken  her.  She  runs  the  faster  and  she  begins  to 
hide.  She  hides  amongst  the  women,  as  they  all 
do.  She  clings  to  her  own  personality  and  sex  as 
soon  as  instinct  warns  her  of  her  danger.  The 
men  are  troubled.  They  ran  for  fun  at  first,  but 
now  they  ask  themselves  the  question  if  she  is 
worth  pursuit.  She  asks  herself  the  question  will 
she  be  pursued ;  if  so,  by  whom  ? 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  103 

'Will  they  both  follow  still?  Will  she  look 
back  ?  If  so,  at  which  of  them  ?  I  wish,  my 
brother,  you  could  watch  my  mystery  play. 

'The  other  girl  is  Indian.  Her  lovers  are  a 
Dane  and  an  Italian.  With  her  it  has  not  gone  so 
far.  The  play  is  just  beginning,  and  she  beckons 
to  them  both.  She  has  not  begun  to  fear  nor  run. 

'My  worthy  primitive  Professor  Clearasmud, 
I  think  that  you  could  learn  more  on  this  ship 
than  from  all  the  books  that  you  have  read;  more 
of  the  present,  more  of  the  past.  You  think  you 
find  a  key  to  read  the  present  in  the  past.  More 
truly  will  you  find  in  life  to-day  a  way  to  unlock 
the  secrets  of  the  past.  The  master-key  to  all 
evolution  is  not  chance,  but  love.  Animals  and 
men  rise  as  they  love;  they  fall  as  love  leaves  them.' 

'Professor,'  said  Holt,  'you  have  some  joke. 
Tell  it  to  me.  I  find  the  ship  life  somewhat  tire- 
some.' 

'You  find  it  tiresome?'  said  the  Professor,  with 
mock  sympathy. 

'Lend  me  a  book.' 

'Take  then  this  book.     Read  it  with  care.' 

'I  will.' 

'Then  disbelieve  it  all,'  and  the  Professor  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XII 

So  the  Marckesa  lounged  through  autumn  seas 
towards  Port  Said.  She  was  in  no  hurry  and  she 
broke  no  records.  Big  liners  passed  her  by  con- 
temptuously; lateen-sailed  boats  from  out  the 
islands  of  the  Ionian  Sea  almost  kept  pace  with 
her.  She  knew  the  world  was  round,  and  that  the 
sooner  to  her  destinations  the  sooner  she  would 
come  back  again.  Therefore  why  hurry  ?  Life  is 
in  the  going  and  the  coming,  not  in  the  end  —  be- 
cause there  is  no  end. 

And  every  day  the  men  felt  that  the  girl  was 
leaving  them.  She  talked  to  them  still,  but  the 
talks  were  shorter.  She  listened,  but  her  thoughts 
were  not  with  what  they  said.  A  new  idea  of  life 
was  dawning  in  her  East.  She  saw  far  off  a  land 
she  had  not  dreamt  of,  lit  with  new  lights,  and 
where  shadows  were  of  pearl.  She  wondered  if  it 
were  real,  or  but  a  phantasy  of  dawn. 

Into  Holt's  heart  there  came  a  sense  of  lone- 
liness, a  helplessness  as  when  a  man  sees  that  which 
he  desires  drift  down  the  stream  beyond  his  reach. 

104 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  105 

He  would  have  seized  her  and  drawn  her  to  him, 
but  he  could  not.  He  only  could  follow  on  the 
bank,  and  hope  some  eddy  in  the  stream  would 
draw  her  nearer.  All  streams  flow  to  the  sea,  and 
there  all  things  are  lost. 

Perhaps,  as  some  compensation,  the  other  life  on 
board  the  ship  came  nearer  to  him.  He  seemed 
to  understand  it  more,  that  the  tie  was  real  that 
made  humanity  all  one.  If  his  brain  was  slow, 
his  sensitiveness  made  amends  by  being  quicker; 
he  saw  with  keener  eyes. 

The  little  Princess  and  her  lovers  amused  him. 
She  was  so  frankly  pleased  with  them.  Perhaps 
in  all  her  life  this  was  the  first  time  that  men  had 
wooed  her.  She  found  it  pleasant,  and  she  gave 
herself  to  it  without  a  doubting  thought.  Soon 
she  would  come  into  a  new  morrow  where  all  this 
life  and  Europe  would  be  a  yesterday.  Why  not 
take  what  the  gods  were  offering  her  ?  When 
Hamlet  came  and  said  that  there  were  porpoises 
upon  the  bows,  she  went  with  him  to  look.  She 
had  seen  a  hundred  shoals  of  porpoises.  What 
matter  ?  The  forward  deck  was  empty.  To  lean 
upon  an  anchor  fluke  and  watch  the  spray  dashed 
from  the  bows,  to  mark  the  gambols  of  the  black 
sea-pigs,  so  joyous  in  their  dances,  to  feel  the  fresh 
sea  wind,  —  all  these  in  company,  were  they  not 


io6  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

well  ?  Hamlet  was  taciturn,  but  comradeship  lies 
not  in  spoken  words.  At  night  Othello  played  on 
the  guitar  and  sang.  Sometimes  she  made  accom- 
paniment on  the  piano  or  played  a  waltz  of  Chopin's. 
Music  alone  has  lost  its  fulness;  we  sing  or  play 
not  to  ourselves,  but  others.  Othello  to  the  Princess, 
and  she  to  him  made  harmony.  Why  not  ? 

If  Hamlet's  white  face  looking  through  the  win- 
dow from  the  outer  dark  seemed  like  a  tortured 
ghost,  that,  too,  came  into  the  music,  the  govern- 
ing discord  that  it  needed.  To-morrow  there  would 
be  new  porpoises,  no  doubt;  and  to  Othello  por- 
poises were  poison.  Each  to  his  time,  and  both 
times  for  the  Princess.  So  was  there  played  a  little 
comedy.  Sometimes,  indeed,  Warden  or  Holt  took 
hands.  Each  had  his  favourite.  Warden's  was 
Hamlet,  and  Holt's  was  Othello.  They  sought  for 
chances,  each  to  help  his  own  man  and  keep  the 
balance  steady  between  the  North  and  South, 
music  and  porpoises.  Did  Hamlet  linger  too  long 
upon  the  forward  deck,  a  messenger  would  fetch 
him  back  to  skittles.  Did  Othello's  songs  become 
too  numerous  and  melancholy,  Warden  joined  in 
and  sang  'John  Peel.'  Perhaps  a  consciousness 
that  she  was  being  protected  delicately,  dawned 
sometimes  upon  the  Indian  girl,  and  made  her  still 
more  gay  and  careless. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  107 

'And  yet,'  said  Warden,  'it  does  not  seem  possi- 
ble that  she  should  marry  either,  or  that  either 
should  marry  her/ 

'Probably,'  said  Holt,  'none  of  the  three  are 
thinking  of  it.  They  laugh  and  play  while  the  sun 
shines.  If  it  should  get  too  hot,  or  the  rain  should 
come,  they  will  all  go  home.' 

'You  know,'  said  Warden,  'that  what  attracts 
the  men  about  the  girl  is  her  romance.  It  seems 
to  them  that  to  be  Indian  is  to  have  stepped  out  of 
the  Arabian  Nights  and  to  be  able  to  step  back 
there  again.  Last  night  Hamlet  was  asking  me  all 
about  India.' 

'What  did  you  tell  him  ?' 

'I  told  him  what  you  or  any  one  else  would  tell 
him,  that  to  go  to  India  is  to  change  one's  skies,  and 
that  is  all.  We  live  in  India,  but  we  are  not  of  India.' 

'Yes,  it  is  true,'  said  Holt.  'We  have  forced 
our  company  upon  her,  but  she  holds  herself  away 
from  us.  We  live  our  own  lives.  As  far  as  know- 
ing India  goes,  we  might  for  the  most  of  us  be  in 
England.  We  know  but  little,  and  that  wrong, 
because  we  are  tempted  to  think  we  know  more 
than  we  do.  There  is  romance  about  their  lives 
still.  They  have  not  bound  themselves  to  a  ma- 
chine called  "progress,"  as  we  have.  But  that 
romance  does  not  touch  us.' 


io8  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'Therefore  it  does  not  exist  for  us,'  said  Warden. 
'That  is  what  I  told  him.  But  he  would  not  be- 
lieve it.' 

'He  thinks  she  is  a  key?' 

'Yes,  and  for  her  it  is  the  same.  The  West  is 
to  her  as  the  East  to  Hamlet  and  Othello.  She 
has  lived  in  Germany  three  years  while  she  grew 
to  be  a  woman.  She  has  been  dazzled  with  the 
strength  of  Europe,  with  its  matured  power,  its 
art,  its  music.  A  Western  seems  to  her  to  have 
the  magic  ring  and  to  be  able  to  call  up  genii  by 
rubbing  it.  She  is  leaving  it.  Perhaps  in  some 
unconscious  way  she  feels  that  Hamlet  and  Othello 
hold  her  to  it,  give  her  re-entrance.' 

'The  men  are  attracted  to  the  girl,  and  she  to 
them,  because  each  seems  to  lead  the  other  to  a 
country  where  romance  is  king  and  the  monotony 
of  life  is  changed.'  Holt  stopped  and  laughed. 
'But  I  wonder,'  he  continued,  'if  it  is  not  always 
so  with  men  and  women.  Each  lives  in  a  country 
to  the  other  quite  unknown,  though  we  may  think 
we  know  something  of  it.  Each  wants  to  pene- 
trate into  a  paradise.' 

'But  there  is  always  at  the  gate  a  dragon,'  said 
Warden. 

'A  dragon?'  thought  Holt.  'No  one  is  afraid 
to  face  a  dragon.  I  wish  there  was  one  at  the 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  109 

gate  I  want  to  enter.  But  it  is  more  difficult  to 
face  an  angel,  even  if  she  have  not  a  flaming  sword. 
Force  will  not  make  an  entrance.  We  must  be 
invited/  And  it  looked  as  though  no  invitation 
would  come.  The  girl  was  with  the  nuns. 

There  was  in  him  an  irritation  against  these 
women.  What  right  had  they  to  hold  themselves 
aloof  from  men  as  if  more  holy  ?  Well,  for  them- 
selves it  did  not  matter,  but  what  right  had  they 
to  filch  from  a  man  the  girl  he  wanted,  to  teach 
her  to  despise  the  world  ?  They  did  not  know  the 
world,  or  they  would  not  despise  it.  Why  did  not 
Mrs.  Holman  interfere  ?  With  their  calm  faces 
and  their  quiet  ways  these  nuns  were  traps.  Yet 
Mrs.  Holman  did  not  notice.  Was  she  blind  ? 

No,  Mrs.  Holman  was  not  blind.  On  that  last 
night  before  they  reached  Port  Said  she  was  thinking 
of  it,  troubled  in  her  mind. 

At  first  she  had  thought  the  girl  attracted  towards 
Holt,  then  perhaps  to  Warden,  but  now  it  was  the 
nuns.  She  was  often  with  them,  and  when  not, 
she  was  thinking  of  them.  Would  she  wish  to 
become  a  nun  ?  If  so,  why  so  ?  If  not,  why  not  ? 
There  was  in  her  mind  no  prejudice  about  religion. 
For  dogma  and  form  she  cared  nothing.  The  ques- 
tion did  not  present  itself  to  her  as  one  of  faith, 
but  one  of  vocation.  A  girl  might  marry,  or  not 


i  io  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

marry.  If  she  did  not,  she  might  live  alone,  the 
solitary  life  that  usually  comes  to  women  who  do 
not  marry,  or  she  might  join  a  Sisterhood.  The 
question  lay  between  the  love  of  man  and  the  love 
of  God.  What  did  each  mean  ? 

There  came  a  knock,  and  Holman  entered. 

'Hush!'   said   his  wife;    'the   boys   are  sleeping.' 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her.  'Minnie,*  he 
said,  'to-morrow  we  reach  Port  Said.  We  must 
decide.  Are  we  to  take  Amitie  with  us  or  send  her 
back?' 

'Why  should  we  send  her  back?' 

'If  we  do  not,  she  will  want  to  become  a  nun/ 

'Perhaps,  perhaps.  Do  not  be  in  such  a  hurry. 
Because  she  talks  to  them  and  is  attracted  by  them  ? 
Who  would  not  be  ?  I  am  myself.' 

'There  is  no  danger  for  you,'  laughed  Holman; 
'you  are  protected.' 

'And  she  is  not?  Well,  suppose  she  should  wish 
to  be  a  nun,  what  then?' 

'Would  it  not  be  a  pity,  such  a  pretty  girl?' 

Mrs.  Holman  smiled  at  him.  'You  are  like 
all  men,  you  see  only  from  your  own  point  of  view. 
She  is  a  pretty  girl;  she  is  even  beautiful,  and  men 
like  beauty.  They  look  on  pretty  girls  as  birds 
look  on  ripe  peaches  as  made  for  the  eating.  You 
grudge  a  sweet  lost  to  mankind;  what  of  the  peach  ?' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  in 

'Are  not  all  peaches  for  the  eating  if  they  have 
such  a  ripeness?  I  picked  a  peach  once;  I  think 
the  peach  has  not  been  sorry.'  He  touched  her 
hair. 

'Sit  down/  she  said,  'and  listen.  You  think  all 
women  are  alike.  They  are  not.  You  think  all 
women  made  for  men.' 

'As  men  for  women.' 

'They  are  not.  You  think  we  have  no  meaning 
in  ourselves  ?' 

'What    meaning    should    either    have  —  alone?' 

She  looked  out  through  the  porthole;  on  the 
sea  there  lay  a  tenderness  come  from  the  dying 
day.  The  long  swell  rose  and  fell  unbroken. 
'Would  you  have  all  the  world  the  same?'  she 
asked;  'all  men  and  women  made  to  marry?  To 
the  eternal  question  is  there  one  only  answer  ?  Is 
life  then  such  a  dull  machine-made  thing?' 

'Has  it  proved  dull?'  he  asked. 

'You  know,'  she  answered,  'what  marriage  has 
meant  to  us.'  She  laughed  into  his  face.  'But 
do  you  think  it  is  the  same  for  all  ?  Would  you 
make  it  a  matter  of  course,  and  so  vulgarise  and 
ruin  it  ?  Love  is  a  passion  and  a  gift  from  heaven, 
a  special  gift.' 

'Not  like  the  rain,  that  falls  upon  the  unjust  and 
the  just  alike  ?'  he  asked. 


H2  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Can  you  believe  it?     No.' 

'Then  it  is  hard,'  he  said,   'for  those  left  out.' 

'It  is  not  hard.  They  too  may  have  their  sacred 
fire  if  they  know  how  to  draw  it  from  the  heavens. 
They  too  may  have  their  happiness.  Never  believe 
that  only  marriage  has  that  answer.  You  never 
think  so  of  men.  You  know  that  many  men  are 
not  born  to  be  married.  Why  should  you  then 
think  so  of  women  ?' 

'Man  has  his  work  and  his  companions.  He 
has  a  meaning  even  though  not  married.' 

'And  have  not  we?'  she  answered.  'Is  there 
no  place  in  the  world  for  woman  except  with  man  ? 
Have  we  no  meaning  ?  Never  believe  it,  Harry. 
You  hurt  me  when  you  say  or  think  I  married  you 
because  I  had  to,  because  I  ought  to,  driven  by  a 
necessity,  and  that  God  made  me  so  poor  a  thing 
that  I  could  not  live  alone  nor  find  a  meaning  in 
my  womanhood.  I  married  you  because  I  loved 
you/ 

'May  not  Amitie  love?' 

'If  she  is  made  to  love,  she  will  not  be  a  nun. 
But  if  she  love  not,  then  it  were  better  to  be  a  nun 
or  any  thing  in  which  she  may  find  herself,  save 
her  own  soul,  than  lose  herself  in  marriage.  The 
only  sanction  and  excuse  for  marriage  is  that  love 
demands  it  and  will  not  take  denial.  Marriage  in 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  113 

itself,  the  tying  of  two  bodies  and  two  souls  without 
the  heat  of  love  to  weld  them  into  one,  is  a  terrible 
thing.  It  is  not  marriage  that  gives  happiness, 
companionship,  children  who  will  inherit  the  world, 
but  love.  The  children  born  of  loveless  marriages 
what  are  they  worth  ?  It  is  the  fire  in  us  that  makes 
the  fire  in  them.  And  what  companionship  can 
there  be  ?  Are  there  not  the  Grahams  to  show  us 
that  marriage  may  be  a  fetter  and  create  a  sore?' 

'They  loved  each  other  once,'  he  said. 

'They  never  did,'  she  said;  'not  in  the  only  way, 
or  they  would  never  be  what  they  are  now,  an  open 
discord.  It  wounds  me  in  my  heart.  Marriage  is 
not  a  thing  to  draggle  in  the  dirt.  They  live  together, 
they  are  tied  together,  they  were  never  married.' 

'And  the  girl?'  he  asked. 

'Leave  her  alone.  If  love  comes  to  her,  then 
well,  but  let  her  be  certain  first  that  it  is  love. 
Leave  her  to  choose  alternatives,  so  that  she  be 
not  forced  by  loneliness  into  some  marriage  that 
is  no  marriage.  Never  believe  she  cannot  fulfil 
herself  in  other  ways,  that  the  world  has  no  use 
for  a  woman,  that  she  has  no  soul  but  what  man 
gives  her.' 

Her  eyes  were  dim.  The  sun  had  set  and  the 
waves  dark.  Then  suddenly  there  came  an  after- 
glow that  filled  the  world  again  with  glory. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  DULL  and  turbid  sea  with  little  restless  waves 
that  tossed  uncertainly;  and  rising  apparently 
straight  from  out  the  water  the  tops  of  ugly  houses, 
featureless  and  new,  such  is  the  first  sight  of  Port 
Said. 

The  sea  is  shallow,  the  Nile  mouths  on  the  south 
empty  out  sand  and  mud  that  turn  the  blue  Mediter- 
ranean waters  brown.  There  is  no  coast  apparent. 
The  desert  lies  so  low  it  does  not  show,  and  a  mirage 
shimmers  over  it  that  makes  one  think  there  must 
be  water  underneath.  The  houses  of  Port  Said, 
the  masts  and  funnels  of  the  ships,  might  be  upon  a 
raft  afloat  upon  a  muddy  ocean  far  from  land,  so 
little  appearance  is  there  of  a  harbour.  There  are 
no  trees  rising  against  the  sky-line,  there  is  no  green- 
ness anywhere  suggesting  earth  and  all  it  bears. 
Not  until  the  ship  gets  nearer,  and  we  see  the  light- 
house and  breakwater,  do  we  realise  that  there  is 
land. 

Yet  in  this  muddy  sea  are  many  ships  coming 
and  going,  converging  to  this  one  point,  or  coming 

114 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  115 

thence.  The  solitude  of  the  great  sea  plains  is 
gone.  This  is  a  water  highway,  and  the  mud  might 
be  churned  up  by  those  that  pass,  sea  dust  from  the 
sea  roadbed. 

A  nearer  view  does  not  mend  matters.  The 
houses  are  so  mean,  such  packing-cases  of  gaudy 
colours,  with  gaudy  names  and  signs  upon  them, 
thrown  anyhow  upon  a  sand  bank.  The  harbour 
is  so  dirty.  Even  the  statue  of  Lesseps  in  these 
surroundings  has  no  dignity.  Set  in  the  middle 
of  the  desert,  beside  the  waterway  he  made,  it  were 
a  different  thing.  But  at  the  entrance  the  Canal  is 
not  seen,  nor  realised,  only  the  bareness,  ugliness, 
and  meanness  of  all  the  port.  And  yet  Port  Said 
is  one  of  the  great  places  of  the  world.  It  is  the 
meeting-place  of  East  and  West,  of  North  and 
South.  It  stands  between  three  continents,  three 
epochs.  It  has  the  keys  of  peace  and  war.  For 
it,  perhaps,  and  near  it,  will  be  fought  a  new  decisive 
battle  of  the  world. 

They  stood  in  a  little  group  upon  the  forecastle 
and  watched  Port  Said  rise.  To  none  of  them  was 
it  new  except  to  Miss  Ormond,  and  it  filled  her  with 
keen  disappointment. 

'This  is  Port  Said  ?'  she  asked. 

'This  is  Port  Said,'  answered  the  Professor. 

'I  thought-  — ,  I  thought-  — ,'  she  said. 


ii6  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'You  thought  it  would  look  beautiful?'  asked 
Holt. 

'I  thought  it  would  look  dignified  at  least,'  she 
said. 

The  Professor  shook  his  head.  'That  is  the 
quality  that  this  age  most  lacks.  It  has  no  dignity, 
the  age,  the  people,  or  the  things  they  do.  As  to 
Port  Said,  when  I  remember  how  I  saw  it  first,  and 
what  has  happened  since,  I  seem  to  see  above  it, 
written  in  the  air,  "So  passes  all  the  glory  of  the 
world.'" 

'  What  did  you  see  at  Port  Said  ? '  asked  Holman. 

4 1  was  here  when  it  was  opened  by  the  Empress 
of  the  French.  I  saw  the  show,  the  magnificence; 
I  heard  the  noble  speeches,  all  the  hopes  and  pride. 
I  saw  Lesseps,  who  seemed  himself  a  prince  among 
the  princes.  Now 

{ They  all  are  dead,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  '  but 
one,  and  she  no  longer  Empress.' 

'To  be  dead.  That  does  not  matter.  All  will 
die.  It  is  not  death  that  takes  away  the  glory  of  the 
world.  Death  consecrates  it.  Had  they  died  that 
day  their  memories  would  have  lived  far  longer  and 
far  otherwise  from  the  way  they  do.  What  did 
they  stand  for  in  1867  ?  "Empress"  meant  beauty, 
pride,  success,  and  glory;  the  greatest  woman  in  the 
Western  world,  the  dream  of  a  romance.  So  would 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  117 

she  have  remained.  "Lesseps"  spelt  courage, 
genius,  and  untiring  effort,  crowned  by  achieve- 
ment, integrity,  and  honour.  He  was  the  greatest 
engineer  the  world  had  seen. 

'What  do  their  names  spell  now?  Hers  brings 
before  us  war,  defeat,  disaster,  ruin,  flight.  We 
never  shall  remember  her  apart  from  1870. 

'And  Panama  is  written  on  Lesseps.  Suez  is 
all  forgotten.  And  where  is  Ismail  ?  Hie  transit 
gloria  mundiy  but  the  failures  live.' 

'There  was  another,'  said  Holman,  'who  was 
great  then,  who  rose  to  greater  greatness  afterwards, 
and  who  fell  and  died  soured  and  embittered  and 
undignified  though  not  disgraced.' 

'You  mean  Bismarck,'  said  the  Professor,  and 
was  silent. 

'We  too,'  said  Holman  thoughtfully,  'have  not 
done  better.  Our  two  greatest  statesmen  of  that 
time  each  ruined  his  party,  and  died  out  of  power 
and  discredited.  For  ability  and  achievement  our 
century  is  perhaps  as  great  as  any,  but  we  have 
forgotten  what  dignity  is  like.  We  have  forgotten 
the  way  to  live.' 

'We  have  forgotten  what  human  nature  is/  said 
the  Professor.  'We  have  forgotten  that  it  is  not 
what  we  have,  but  what  we  are  that  matters  and 
that  lasts.  We  make  a  science  of  the  body,  and 


ii8  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

forget  we  all  have  souls  which  are  immortal.  We 
seek  for  the  applause  of  crowds  and  do  not  gain  it, 
yet  to  them  sacrifice  our  self-respect.  No  place 
presents  this  as  Port  Said  does,  because  she  is  all 
ours,  of  our  own  time.' 

They  came  into  the  harbour  and  made  fast. 
Beside  her  and  in  front  were  three  great  English 
liners,  full  of  passengers.  Small  boats  came  off 
and  clustered  at  their  ladders,  the  decks  were  in- 
vaded by  pedlars,  conjurers,  guides,  touts,  paper- 
sellers.  The  peace  of  the  high  seas  was  gone. 

They  went  below  to  breakfast.  When  they 
returned  on  deck,  ready  to  go  ashore,  they  saw  an 
interesting  sight. 

A  great  three-funnelled  ship  was  passing.  She 
had  come  up  behind  them.  Before  they  entered 
they  had  seen  her  smoke  on  the  horizon,  and  that 
she  was  a  big  steamer  coming  fast  and  gaining  on 
them.  Now  she  was  arrived  they  saw  she  was  a 
Russian,  one  of  the  Volunteer  Fleet  intended  to 
be  half  merchantman,  half  cruiser.  On  this  oc- 
casion she  was  wholly  transport,  for  her  decks  were 
dense  with  troops  going  to  Port  Arthur.  They 
looked  strange  men,  older  than  troops  of  other 
nations,  bearded,  with  grey  coats  and  fur  caps. 

The  steamer  went  by  slowly  to  her  berth  further 
up  the  harbour,  passing  the  English  liners  one  by 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  119 

one.  Their  passengers  looked  on  her  silently, 
she  was  almost  an  enemy.  For  then  was  the  time 
of  trouble  about  Egypt,  when  France  and  England 
were  on  doubtful  terms,  and  France  was  Russia's 
ally.  There  were  rumours  in  the  air  of  war  impend- 
ing, of  combinations  against  England,  of  threats, 
of  preparations  to  displace  her.  The  ship  went  on 
and  moored  on  the  other  side.  The  basin  of  the 
men-of-war  was  near  her  berth,  and  in  the  basin 
there  was  a  French  torpedo-boat.  Its  crew  was  on 
the  deck,  and  when  the  Russian  steamer  came  up 
to  her  mooring  they  cheered  her.  The  Russians 
answered.  For  some  minutes  there  was  an  inter- 
change of  cheer  and  cheer,  welcome  to  welcome. 
A  friend  had  met  a  friend,  and  in  hard  times  a  friend 
is  doubly  so.  Then  the  cheer  died  and  silence  came. 
But  not  for  long.  Behind  the  Russian  cruiser, 
at  a  few  minutes'  distance,  came  another  ship,  a 
smaller,  greyer,  grimmer  vessel.  She  was  an  Eng- 
lish cruiser,  and  she  flew  the  great  white  flag  of 
England.  Suddenly  from  the  liners  came  a  storm 
of  cheers.  It  was  their  answer  to  the  French  and 
Russian.  The  man-of-war  passed  on.  Her  crew 
stood  still  upon  her  decks  in  discipline.  She  dipped 
her  ensign  in  courtly  acknowledgment  and  that  was 
all.  England  suffices  to  herself  as  long  as  she  is 
true  to  that  within  her  which  made  her  what  she  is. 


120  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

On  the  Marchesa  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Each 
nationality  had  its  thought,  no  doubt,  but  all  kept 
silence.  Port  Said  harbour  returned  to  its  ordinary 
commonplaceness,  and  the  Marcbesas  passengers 
went  on  shore. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THEY  were  sitting  in  the  long  verandah  of  the 
hotel  that  gives  upon  the  street,  and  watched  the 
motley  throng  go  by.  Truly  nowhere  in  the  world 
are  there  so  many  different  types  in  such  a  narrow 
area.  Almost  all  nations  of  the  world  would  seem 
to  provide  a  sample.  There  are  Western  Europeans, 
bankers  or  merchants,  passengers  from  the  ships; 
there  are  Italians,  Greeks,  and  Levantines.  Their 
face  and  speech  differentiates  them,  though  their 
dress  is  all  the  same.  There  are  Turks  and  Egyp- 
tians with  red  fezzes,  Arabs  with  stately  march, 
negroes  with  coal-black  skins.  A  Parsee  with  his 
hat  told  of  the  East,  a  Chinaman  of  the  yet  further 
Orient,  and  all  set  out  upon  the  background  of  the 
fellahin's  brown  faces  and  their  figures  clad  in  ragged 
clothes,  of  donkey-men,  of  hackney  carriages  with 
half-starved  horses,  of  clouds  of  dust  and  blinding 
sunlight.  The  crowd  is  not  a  beautiful  one;  it  has 
neither  colour,  strength,  nor  purpose,  but  it  is  inter- 
esting because  so  varied.  At  one  end  of  the  verandah 
a  conjurer  was  doing  tricks.  He  brought  chickens 


122  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

from  eggs,  birds  from  his  palms ;  he  grew  trees  from 
seed  and  made  them  fruit.  There,  seated  on  his 
rug  in  the  bare  verandah,  with  no  apparatus  and  no 
stage,  no  help  from  hidden  assistant,  his  skill  an- 
nounced a  supernatural  quality.  No  one  could  do 
these  things  without  some  hidden  power  that  the 
West  knew  not  of.  His  brown  keen  face  and  pierc- 
ing eyes  seemed  to  affect  the  judgment. 

'How  does  he  do  it?'  asked  Othello. 

'By  quickness  of  his  hand,  and  by  leading  your 
eyes  to  look  away  at  something  else,'  answered  the 
little  Princess. 

'And  that  is  all?'  he  said,  with  disappointment. 

'That  is  all,'  she  said.  'It  is  a  clever  play,  but 
I  have  seen  it  a  hundred  times  in  India.' 

'There  is  no  magic?  nothing  supernatural,  no 
special  power  ?  I  thought  the  East  had  secrets  that 
we  did  not  know.' 

The  little  Princess  laughed.  'That  is  your 
Western  way  of  thinking.  You  always  wish  to  see 
some  mystery  in  everything.  I  saw  a  conjurer 
once  in  England,  an  Indian  from  Madras,  who  did 
some  of  our  well-known  tricks,  the  mango  tree, 
the  disappearing  boy,  and  others,  all  clever  tricks, 
but  nothing  more.  Yet  the  conjurer  told  them  it 
was  all  magic.  He  spoke  of  odic  force,  of  trans- 
mutation, of  mystic  influences,  I  know  not  what. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  123 

He  was  a  clever  man  and  knew  how  to  interest 
the  West.  Had  he  said  they  were  conjuring  tricks 
he  would  have  made  no  money.  I  caught  his  eye 
once  and  he  laughed.' 

'Was  he  not  afraid  you  would  betray  him  ?'  asked 
Othello. 

'No,  he  was  not  afraid.  He  knew  no  one  would 
have  believed  me.  You  want  to  believe  in  magic 
and  you  will  do  so.  It  is  an  European  weakness. 
Even  you  yourself  do  not  believe  me  when  I  say  that 
it  is  only  quickness.' 

Othello  almost  blushed.  'But  you  have  fortune- 
tellers in  the  East/ 

'Clever  men/  she  answered,  'who  learn  up  things 
beforehand,  and  who  are  very  quick  at  guessing 
from  your  face  and  manner/ 

'And  you  all  know  that  it  is  only  guessing?' 

'The  village  people,  like  simple  people  every- 
where/ she  answered,  'are  bewildered,  and  will 
believe  anything,  but  the  educated  people  are  dif- 
ferent. With  you,  however,  it  is  often  the  most 
educated  who  are  most  given  to  magic/ 

'You  take/  he  said,  'all  the  romance  from  life. 
You  make  it  commonplace  and  dull.  It  is  so  with 
us  now,  but  I  hoped  in  India  it  was  different/ 

The  little  Princess  looked  at  him.  'Romance, 
romance,  what  does  it  mean  ?  There  are  forces/ 


i24  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

she  said,  'that  no  one  knows  of;  there  are  mys- 
teries that  no  one  has  ever  solved  nor  will  do.  There 
is  the  power  of  the  will  upon  the  body,  of  one  will 
on  others;  there  is  sometimes  a  power  to  catch 
from  the  future  a  reflection  of  what  is  within  there. 
But  we  do  not  seek  to  prove  these  mysteries  by 
changing  eggs  to  chickens.  We  do  not  make  re- 
ligions out  of  conjuring  tricks  and  marvels.  That  is 
your  way,  not  ours/ 

To  her  it  seemed  an  extraordinary  thing  that 
people  of  a  great  civilisation  like  the  West  should 
not  find  in  it  satisfaction.  The  knowledge  and 
capacity  of  Europe  filled  her  with  awe  and  wonder. 
It  was  an  enchanted  palace  full  of  genii.  They 
called  in  spirits  who  obeyed  their  call.  They  tamed 
the  land,  the  seas,  the  winds,  the  lightning.  What 
was  there  that  they  did  not  know  and  could  not 
do  ?  Yet  they  were  fools.  Their  spirits  were 
material  ones,  and  they  had  sold  their  souls.  But 

we With    sudden    energy    she    stopped    her 

unconscious  thoughts  and  looked  about  her.  Who 
were  the  'we'  and  'they'  ?  She  had  lived  so  long 
in  Europe  that  she  had  grown  into  it,  had  come  to 
feel  it  the  country  of  her  adoption  and  its  peoples 
hers.  The  East  she  had  forgotten.  Thinking  of 
it  she  had  despised  it,  poor,  and  weak,  and  ignorant. 
Her  skin  might  be  an  Eastern  skin,  her  heart  was  all 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  125 

of  Europe.  Yesterday  only  the  West  to  her  was 
'home,'  its  peoples  'we';  the  East  was  foreign. 
And  now,  suddenly,  she  found  that  she  was  identify- 
ing herself  with  the  East  she  so  despised.  Even  the 
fellahin,  the  Arabs,  were  nearer  her  than  Hamlet 
or  Othello.  She  felt  at  home  with  them  and  here; 
she  loved  the  sun,  even  the  dust,  and  the  people 
of  Europe  were  become  'they.'  Between  her  and 
her  courtiers,  Hamlet  and  Othello,  had  suddenly 
appeared  a  gulf.  It  frightened  her.  She  wondered 
if  they  too  saw  it;  if  they  were  classing  her  with 
the  backward  East  and  not  the  pushing  West. 
Suddenly  she  became  silent.  And  then,  as  if  seek- 
ing refuge  from  the  East  that  called,  she  went  and 
took  a  seat  beside  Miss  Ormond.  Would  she  not 
give  a  helping  hand  back  over  the  gulf  to  her  own 
side  ?  If  the  East  beckoned  she  would  shut  her  eyes. 
'Save  me,'  she  almost  cried,  'oh  save  me  from  my- 
self.' The  two  girls  talked.  Othello  walked  away 
disconsolate. 

A  band  played  every  now  and  then,  pedlars  came 
in  and  tried  to  sell  their  wares;  there  was  a  con- 
stant ebb  and  flow.  Passengers  from  the  ships, 
followed  by  men  with  baskets  carrying  their  pur- 
chases, came  and  drank  coffee.  What  does  Port 
Said  produce  from  out  her  sand  ?  Nothing.  What 
does  she  sell  ?  Nougat  made  in  France,  Turkish 


i26  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

delight  from  Paris,  cigarettes  of  Syrian  tobacco, 
dates  from  the  Delta  in  big  luscious  bunches.  Port 
Said  has  nothing  and  is  nothing. 

'And  yet,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'there  is  no  place 
like  this.  The  band  is  bad,  but  I  remember  this  is 
the  last  that  I  shall  hear  till  I  return  again.  There- 
fore the  music  has  a  meaning,  and  I  listen  to  it.  To 
those  who  go  East,  this  is  the  last  of  Europe  and  the 
first  of  Asia.  To  those  who  go  West,  this  is  the  last 
of  Asia  and  the  first  of  Europe.  We  change  here  our 
skies,  our  clothes,  our  minds,  and  put  on  new  ones.' 

'And,'  said  Warden,  'the  strange  thing  is,  that 
directly  we  have  changed,  it  seems  as  if  we  had 
never  been  otherwise  than  we  are.  After  Port 
Said  the  East  becomes  the  present;  Europe  has 
become  a  misty  memory,  almost  unreal.  Does  it 
in  truth  exist  ?  The  East  takes  us,  and  we  renew 
our  Eastern  habits  as  if  there  had  never  been  a 
break.  Just  so  in  coming  back.  Once  in  the 
Mediterranean  the  East  has  gone  from  round  us  and 
within  us.  It  seems  a  dream-life  we  lived  there. 
The  three  or  four  or  more  years  we  have  been  away 
from  Europe  counts  as  nothing,  and  we  continue  our 
European  life  as  if  we  had  never  been  away.' 

'Yes,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'and  we  are  vexed 
and  surprised  to  find  our  friends  are  grown  away 
from  us,  that  Europe  has  not  stood  still  as  we  have.' 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  127 

'That  is  the  trouble,'  said  Holt.  'We  live  nomad 
lives.  We  have  no  home,  no  friends,  no  grip  on 
anything.' 

'No   friends?'   asked  the  girl. 

'No  friends.  At  first  we  make  many  friends. 
We  lose  them.  They  leave  the  station  or  we  do. 
We  make  more  friends  in  place  of  them.  They 
pass.  We  go  to  England  and  make  friends  there; 
we  return  to  the  East  and  they  are  forgotten  and 
forget  us.  Then  at  last  we  cease  to  make  more 
friends.  We  are  afraid.' 

'To  make  a  friend,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'is  to 
give  a  little  of  your  heart.  You  cannot  go  on  giving.' 

'Therefore  you  shut  yourself  within  a  shell,' 
said  Holt,  'and  rarely  make  new  friends.  Warden 
is  the  lucky  man.  He  has  his  regiment/ 

'Yet  that  too  changes.     Men  come  and  go.* 

'And  so  at  last,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  laughing, 
'you  must  marry  out  of  self-defence.  You  give 
the  tattered  remnant  to  a  woman  to  keep  for  you, 
taking  in  exchange  a  fresh  new  heart,  unbattered.' 

The  men  all  laughed. 

'Is  that  why  Holman  looks  so  young?'  asked 
Warden. 

'That  is  the  reason.' 

'That  is  all  wrong,'  said  Holman.  'Women  take 
and  do  not  give.' 


128  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'What  shall  we  do?'  said  Mrs.  Holman.  'We 
cannot  go  on  board  yet,  for  the  coaling  is  not  finished, 
yet  we  have  exhausted  all  the  resources  of  Port 
Said.  We  cannot  buy  more  nougat  or  cigarettes; 
we  cannot  ride  on  donkeys/ 

'We  can  go  off  to  the  cruiser,'  said  Warden. 
'I  want  to  go,  for  I  think  I  have  a  cousin  in  her. 
Shall  we  all  go  ?' 

They  walked  down  through  the  dusty  street 
and  took  a  boat  off  to  the  cruiser.  Warden's  cousin 
was  there,  and  welcomed  them  and  showed  them 
over  the  great  ship.  Then  in  the  twilight  they  took 
a  boat  again  and  rowed  back  to  the  Marchesa. 

They  dined  in  the  saloon.  When  they  came  up 
on  deck  again  they  were  in  the  Canal. 

The  West  had  gone,  had  faded.  All  things 
are  taken  from  us  and  become  portions  and  parcels 
of  the  dreadful  past.  They  were  coming  into  a 
world  where  all  was  different,  seas,  and  skies,  and 
skin,  and  clothes,  —  all  things  were  different  save 
our  souls.  For  to  the  soul  there  is  no  East,  no 
West,  no  North,  no  South;  for  the  souls  of  all  are 
part  of  the  World-Soul  that  lives  for  ever. 


BOOK    II 
THE   EAST 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  ship  passed  very  slowly  through  the  narrow 
water.  Before  her  it  stretched  a  ghastly  greenish 
strip  lit  by  her  searchlight.  The  buoys  that  marked 
the  deeper  water  swam  suddenly  into  being  when 
the  light  touched  them,  and  disappeared  behind 
her  into  the  night.  On  either  side  there  was  a  wave 
that  followed  the  ship,  washing  against  the  banks 
with  a  dull  murmur,  and  beyond  the  banks  the  desert. 

It  seemed  to  stretch  into  illimitable  distances, 
mysterious,  wonderful  in  the  dim  light  of  a  half 
moon.  Strange  noises  came  from  it;  a  jackal 
barked  with  mournful  cadence,  a  camel  bubbled. 
And  there  were  sounds  born  of  the  night  alone, 
whispers  and  sighs  that  drifted  up  on  the  night 
wind.  It  seemed  as  if  they  were  the  desert's 
thoughts  that  passed,  her  dreams,  her  fancies, 
her  remembrances.  They  were  the  ghosts  of  all 
the  things  that  she  had  seen  through  all  the  ages. 

In  the  silence  the  girl  sat  alone,  and  thoughts 
came  to  her  out  of  the  night. 

The  woman  and  the  man  are  different. 

131 


i32  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

She  had  never  realised  it  before  in  all  its  fulness; 
it  had  not  come  to  her  as  a  certainty,  as  a  thing 
she  knew.  For  all  the  life  she  had  lived  had  tended 
to  obliterate  the  difference,  or  rather,  to  spread 
over  life  a  crust  through  which  the  truth  could 
not  show.  It  had  seemed  to  her,  it  had  been  told 
to  her  as  a  new  school  of  thought,  that  there  was 
indeed  no  difference  that  was  real.  It  was  all 
artificial.  If  women  did  not  do  some  things  so 
well  as  men  that  was  because  they  had  not  had 
the  opportunity,  had  never  been  taught  to  do  them, 
had  been  oppressed  by  man  and  kept  below  for 
his  own  ends.  Given  a  fair  field  there  was  noth- 
ing she  could  not  do  as  well  as  he  could,  maybe 
better.  And  in  the  life  she  had  lived,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  might  be  true.  In  most  walks  of 
life  that  she  knew  there  were  women  who  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves.  There  had  been  women 
wranglers,  doctors,  lawyers,  scientists,  managers 
of  business.  That  the  women  were  very  few,  the 
exception  that  proved  the  opposite  rule,  and  the 
men  many  was  nothing.  Time  and  education 
would  put  that  right.  Women  were  men's  rivals, 
and  they  would  be  successful  rivals.  There  was 
not  really  any  difference.  Physically  even,  women 
could  rival  men.  Men  were  only  the  oppressors, 
the  enemies,  who  arrogated  to  themselves  powers 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  133 

they  had  not  got,  and  had  through  all  ages  kept 
women  down.  Well,  that  time  was  past  or  was 
quickly  passing. 

Women  were  emancipating  themselves.  They 
were  throwing  away  their  chains  and  opening  their 
prisons,  coming  into  the  fresh  air.  Men  were  un- 
necessary, useless,  wicked,  and  their  day  was  past. 
She  had  heard  and  read  beautiful  prophecies  of 
what  the  world  was  to  be  when  women  had  the 
guidance  of  everything,  when  they  had  perhaps 
reduced  men  to  the  position  women  used  to  hold. 
Then  would  be  the  millennium,  the  Victory  of 
Women. 

And  now  suddenly  from  the  sight  of  the  cruiser, 
of  the  Russian  transport,  of  the  French  gunboat, 
from  the  understanding  of  the  passions  that  lay 
below  the  surface,  a  new  light  came  to  her.  The 
whole  futility  of  the  ideas  that  she  had  heard  came 
flooding  into  her  mind.  Men  and  women  were 
different,  utterly  different.  She  could  not  imagine, 
could  not  think  of  a  woman's  crew  on  board  that 
cruiser,  or  of  that  crew  of  men  obeying  a  woman's 
government. 

It  was  true  she  had  seen  warships  often  before, 
she  had  even  been  on  board  them,  she  had  known 
sailors.  She  had  known  many  soldiers  too,  and 
seen  troops  upon  parade.  But  then  they  had 


i34  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

brought  to  her  no  thoughts.  She  had  seen, 
admired,  and  then  forgotten.  In  private  life  it 
did  not  seem  that  soldiers  or  sailors  were  any  dif- 
ferent from  other  men,  and  therefore  no  different 
from  women. 

But  to-day  the  whole  absurdity  dawned  upon 
her.  The  visit  to  the  cruiser,  the  sight  of  her  guns, 
her  men,  their  discipline,  the  purpose  in  their  faces 
and  their  manner,  had  come  to  her  like  a  revela- 
tion. These  men  were  men,  and  no  woman  could 
ever  be  like  them,  could  hope  to  be,  could  wish  to 
be.  The  foundation  of  her  dream  had  disap- 
peared. The  whole  fabric  of  the  world  rested  on 
force,  and  force  is  man.  And  she  knew  that  she 
admired  it,  loved  it,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to 
purify  the  world.  Yet  because  her  dream  had 
gone  an  anger  took  her,  and  she  went  to  the  ex- 
treme. Then  the  old  truth  was  true.  The  world 
was  men's,  and  they  were  the  lords  of  it.  Women 
were  but  their  slaves.  A  bitter  resentment  seized 
her  because  she  was  not  a  man.  Why  was  she 
born  a  woman  and  a  slave  ? 

She  sat  and  stared  into  the  night. 

A  man  sat  close  beside  her.  'It  is  a  wonderful 
night,'  he  said,  and  she  knew  that  it  was  Holt. 

She  did  not  answer. 

'What    are    you    thinking   of?'     he    said.     'The 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  135 

desert  makes  one  think.  It  has  no  boundaries.  It 
lets  thoughts  go  out  into  the  world.' 

'Only  into  the  dark,'  she  answered. 

'What  are  you  thinking  of?'    he  said  again. 

'I  am  thinking  how  unfairly  the  world  is  made/ 
she  answered. 

'Truly,'  he  said,  'it  seems  so.  But  in  what 
way  ? ' 

For  a  time  she  did  not  answer.  Then  suddenly 
she  asked,  'Have  you  ever  wished  you  were  a 
woman  ?' 

He  was  surprised.     'A  woman?     No/ 

'Of  course  you  would  not.  No  man  would. 
Why  should  they  wish  it?'  There  was  a  bitterness 
in  her  voice.  'But  many  women  wish  they  had 
been  men.' 

'Do  they?'  he  asked,  surprised.  'Why  should 
they  wish  it  ? ' 

'Cannot  you  guess  ?' 

'I  cannot  indeed,'  he  answered.  'It  is  true  I 
have  heard  women  say  it  before,  some  women. 
But  I  supposed  they  did  not  mean  it,  or  that  it 
was  only  because  they  were  angry  with  some  man.' 

'Yes,'  she  answered,  'that  is  the  sort  of  thing  a 
man  would  think.  But  supposing  it  is  true.  Sup- 
pose you  had  been  a  woman,  think  how  you  would 
feel/ 


136  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'I  think,'  he  answered,  'if  I  had  been  born  a 
woman  I  should  have  been  contented.' 

'I  am  sure  you  would  not.' 

'No  one,  of  course,  can  tell  what  he  would  do 
in  an  impossible  case;  but  why  not?' 

'It  is  so  much  better  to  be  a  man.' 

'That  is  no  answer,  even  if  it  were  true.  It  is 
better,  probably,  to  be  a  king,  or  very  rich  or  fa- 
mous. I  am  not  any  of  these  things.  But  I  am 
content  to  be  myself.  I  do  not  lie  awake  at 
nights  wishing  to  be  a  millionaire.  And  I  do 
not  know  that  it  is  true.  Why  is  it  better  to  be  a 
man  ?' 

'  Because  you  are  free  and  we  are  not.' 

'I  do  not  see  it.' 

'Because  you  won't.' 

'Indeed,'  he  said  sincerely,  'it  is  not  because  I 
won't,  but  because  I  can't.  I  have  not,  however, 
thought  about  it  very  much.' 

'You  had  no  need;'  and  the  anger  in  her  voice 
increased.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  anger  was 
twofold  —  at  herself  and  at  him,  because  he  was 
and  she  was  not  a  man.  It  kindled  in  him  a  faint 
amusement,  but  he  would  not  let  it  be  seen.  And 
he  felt  sorry  for  her,  because  it  is  no  good  being 
vexed  with  Fate. 

'I    daresay   I    am   stupid,'   he   answered   quietly. 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  137 

'Believe  me  it  is  not  anything  else.  Will  you  not 
explain  to  me  ?' 

'Because  you  are  free  and  we  not.  You  are 
masters  of  your  destiny,  but  we  are  dependent  on 
Fate  and  you.  We  can  do  nothing  without  you. 
We  are  so  helpless.' 

'I  think,'  he  answered,  'that  you  exaggerate  our 
power.  No  man  is  master  of  himself  nor  of  his 
destiny,  no  one.  I  think  you  observe  only  a  part 
of  man's  life  and  not  the  whole,  only  the  rewards, 
not  the  hard  work,  the  discipline,  that  leads  to  the 
rewards,  nor  the  punishments  of  failures.  I  do  not 
think  that  men  are  more  free  than  women,  it  is 
only  an  appearance.  We  are  dependent  on  other 
men;  we  have  to  go  through  a  discipline  you  have 
no  idea  of.  You  are  always  shielded  from  the 
world's  knocks  by  men,  therefore  you  do  not  realise 
them.  We  have  to  take  them  all  through  life. 
When  they  come  through  us  and  touch  you,  you 
blame  us,  as  if  we  caused  them.  What  man  is  in- 
dependent ?  The  great  majority  of  mankind  are 
employed  in  some  way  or  another.  They  are 
dependent  on  their  employer.  A  manufacturer  is 
dependent  on  his  workmen  and  on  the  public.  A 
soldier  or  sailor  is  dependent  absolutely  on  his 
commanding  officer  and  on  Government.  An  artist 
is  dependent  on  a  very  fickle  public  taste,  all  are 


138  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

dependent  on  Fate.  When  you  say  that  men  are 
free  to  make  their  own  lives,  you  are  wrong.  They 
are  dependent  just  as  you  are.  It  is  a  different 
dependence,  that  is  all/ 

'But  you  are  not  dependent  on  women/ 

'Not  for  our  livelihood,  true,  but  for  everything 
else/ 

'And  you  earn  it/ 

'Do  not  women  earn  it  from  their  fathers  and 
their  husbands  ?  Do  they  do  nothing  to  deserve 
it  ?  Is  it  worse  to  take  it  from  a  man  who  loves 
you,  or  wring  it  from  a  reluctant  world  as  he  does  ?' 

She  bit  her  lip.  She  had  not  expected  this.  It 
made  her  more  angry. 

'Besides,  you  exaggerate  the  rewards.  It  is 
women  who  set  great  value  on  money  and 
honour,  not  men.  Men  make  the  money,  women 
spend  it.  Men  earn  the  honours,  women  enjoy 
them.  The  value  men  set  on  these  things  is  only 
that  they  may  give  them  to  the  women.  Thus 
men  and  women  are  different,  complementary  to 
each  other.  That  which  one  gains  the  other  takes. 
Women  give  care,  affection,  children,  in  full  value 
for  all  they  get/ 

'It  is  easy,'  said  the  girl  scornfully,  'to  depre- 
ciate what  you  have  got/ 

'You  do  not  think  I  am  sincere?' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  139 

'No.' 

'Yet  it  is  true.  And  as  to  power,  it  seems  to 
me  that  if  men  have  power  over  the  natural  world, 
women  have  power  over  men,  and  through  them 
over  everything.  Nearly  all  the  married  men  I 
know  are  greatly  governed  by  their  wives.  In  India 
the  wives  go  to  the  hills,  go  home,  but  the  man 
stays  and  works  in  the  heat  alone.  Often  when 
men  would  retire  they  cannot.  They  must  make 
more  money,  or  get  some  honour  for  their  wives. 
So  they  work  on,  and  die  often  enough/ 

'You  think  them  fools  because  they  are  married  ?' 

'They  tell  me  I  am  the  fool,  that  they  are  glad 
to  do  it,  and  that  marriage  makes  everything  worth 
while/ 

'You  don't  believe  them  ?' 

'I  suppose,  like  other  people,  I  only  realise  what 
I  know/ 

'Besides,'  he  continued  presently,  'it  is  not  true 
that  men  make  the  world  according  to  their  own 
ideals  for  themselves  to  be  happy  in.  Nothing 
could  be  less  true. 

'The  world  is  formed  and  governed  by  men, 
but  mainly  on  women's  ideals.  They  try  always 
to  make  it  a  place  more  and  more  fit  not  for  the 
strong,  who  are  men,  but  for  the  weak,  who  are 
women.  All  great  machinery  to  keep  the  world 


I4o  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

quiet  and  at  peace  is  erected  at  woman's  bidding 
for  woman's  use.  Men  would  prefer  less  law,  less 
peace,  more  scope  for  strength  and  ability,  and 
energy  and  courage.  It  is  women  and  priests, 
their  allies,  who  cry  always  for  that  peace  that  is  to 
put  all  on  to  the  same  level,  to  elevate  the  coward, 
the  weakling,  the  fool  to  the  level  of  the  hero. 

'A  man's  world  would  be  a  different  place.  If 
he  wanted  a  thing  he  would  be  free  to  try  and  take 
it.' 

'Yes,  or  a  woman.     He  would  take  her?' 
'He  would  not  take  her  were  she  unwilling.' 
'I  would  sooner  be  taken  than  bought,'  she  an- 
swered.    'I  would  respect  a  man  who  carried  me 
away,  but  not  a  man  I  had  to  marry  to  live.     And 
I  should  think  you  would  like  it  better  too.' 

'Then,'  said  Holt,  'give  the  world  back  to  us. 
It  was  a  better  world  when  there  was  less  peace 
and  talk  in  it.  It  was  a  happier  world  also  for 
both.  And  it  is  not  our  doing.' 

'If  I  were  a  man,'  she  said,  'I  would  not  let 
myself  be  governed  by  women/ 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FAR  ahead,  low  down  upon  the  desert,  shone  a 
star.  It  grew  and  it  came  nearer  till  it  was  seen 
to  be  the  light  under  the  bows  of  an  approaching 
steamer.  The  Marchesa  went  into  a  'gare*  and 
tied  up,  waiting  for  it  to  pass.  Slowly  it  came 
up,  and  almost  touched  her  side  as  it  went  past. 
It  was  all  dark  on  board,  and  about  this  stranger 
passing  them  so  near  and  yet  half  seen  there 
seemed  a  mystery.  Out  of  the  night  she  came, 
and  went  again  into  the  night. 

Then  the  Marchesa  went  on  again. 

The  man  and  girl  sat  side  by  side  and  stared 
into  the  desert.  They  could  not  see  each  other,  and 
there  had  risen  between  them  an  antagonism  that 
half  drew  them  to  each  other  and  half  divided  them. 

The  girl  had  ceased  to  argue,  ceased  to  think. 
Only  there  was  in  her  a  bitterness,  a  sense  of  weak- 
ness and  of  loneliness  that  grew. 

The  world  was  man's,  and  woman  could  gain 
it  only  from  a  man.  That  was  the  bitterness. 
She  could  not  stand  alone.  Was  there  never  in 

141 


H2  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

the  world  a  place  for  woman  only  ?  In  all  these 
stars  that  shone  above  her  was  there  none  for 
women  ?  A  mute  rebellion  seized  her,  all  the 
more  fierce  because  of  its  uselessness.  The  tears 
came  to  her  eyes;  she  felt  a  sob  was  rising  to  her 
throat.  The  man  heard  a  rustle,  and  he  was 
alone.  He  did  not  follow  her.  Why  should  he 
follow  ?  He  felt  sore.  What  had  men  done, 
what  had  he  done  that  she  should  so  contemn 
him  and  envy  him  at  once  ?  Had  men  the  better 
part  of  life  ? 

A  week  ago  he  would  have  said  'Yes'  unthink- 
ingly. He  did  not  want  to  be  a  woman.  He  did 
not  wish  to  be  other  than  he  was,  and  make  the 
best  of  himself  and  of  the  world.  Was  not  the 
world  man's  oyster  ?  Could  not  his  hand  and  brain 
get  for  him  all  he  wanted  ?  A  week  ago  he  would 
have  answered  'Yes.'  And  now? 

What  was  it  that  he  wanted  ?  What  was  the 
desire  that  filled  his  life  ?  that  had  come  uncon- 
sciously, unbidden  ?  Was  it  anything  that  he  could 
win  with  hand  or  brain  ?  Was  it  money  ?  Was  it 
even  fame  or  honour  ?  None  of  these  things.  Was 
it  woman,  even  ?  He  paused.  Women  can  be 
bought  sometimes,  or  won,  or  carried  off.  Was  it  a 
woman  ?  No ! 

What  then  ? 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  143 

It  was  a  woman's  love,  and  that  cannot  be  earned, 
nor  forced,  nor  gained.  It  has  no  price.  It  can  be 
given  only.  Yet  that  was  all  the  world  was  worth. 
She  envied  him  because,  a  man,  he  had  the  world 
at  his  feet.  She  did  not  understand  what  was  the 
real  value  of  life,  what  was  that  for  which  if  a  man 
offered  all  the  substance  of  his  house  it  would  be 
utterly  despised.  It  was  the  love  of  a  woman. 
And  that  she  only  could  give  to  man.  Man  inde- 
pendent of  woman  ?  Was  there  ever  such  a  folly  ? 
If  she  was  dependent  on  him,  he  was  so  on  her  — 
and  more,  and  more.  What  was  her  loneliness  to 
his? 

His  bitterness  had  passed.  It  broke  like  a 
barrier,  and  a  flood  of  love  and  pity  filled  his 
heart.  He  looked  to  see  if  he  could  see  her.  He 
rose  and  walked  about  the  decks;  but  she  was 
gone.  The  voices  of  men  talking  on  the  farther 
side  jarred  upon  him,  and  he  returned  to  where 
he  had  been. 

'What  is  the  matter  with  my  young  man  Selim 
that  he  sits  alone  and  stares  across  the  desert?' 
asked  the  Sultan. 

The  Vizier  answered. 

'He  hath  a  mystery  in  his  head  and  in  his  heart 
a  flame,  for  it  seems  he  is  in  love.' 


i44  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

The  girl  went  down  towards  her  cabin.  She 
was  tired,  almost  afraid.  The  dry,  hot  air  from 
off  the  sand  strained  on  her  nerves  and  bound  her 
forehead  in  a  band  of  iron.  The  illimitable  dis- 
tances seemed  to  call  to  her.  She  felt  as  if  her 
soul  might  go  abroad  to  join  the  night  which  called 
to  her.  She  wanted  quiet  and  four  walls  to  shut 
her  in,  that  she  might  return  within  herself. 

But  in  the  corridor  she  met  Sister  Teresa.  The 
nun  would  have  passed  her  by,  had  half  done  so, 
then  stopped  and  took  her  hand. 

'Your  eyes  look  tired,'  she  said;  'you  are  not  well.' 

The  girl  murmured  something,  but  did  not  move. 
Instinctively  she  was  glad  to  stay,  to  feel  her  hand 
within  Teresa's  firm,  cool  grasp. 

'Sister  Cecilia,  too,  is  ill,'  went  on  the  nun.  'But 
then  she  is  so  delicate,  and  often  ill.  I  fear  this 
voyage  for  her,  and  that  it  was  wrong  to  bring  her.' 
She  paused.  'Where  are  you  going?' 

'I  was  going  to  my  cabin.  I  would  like  to  come 
with  you  instead.  May  I  see  Sister  Cecilia  ?  Per- 
haps I  could  do  something  for  her  —  put  scent  upon 
her  head,  or  something.' 

Sister  Teresa  thought  a  moment.  'Yes,  you 
shall  come,'  she  said;  'and  you  may  bring  your 
scent.  We  poor  Sisters  do  not  have  such  things, 
you  know;'  she  smiled. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  145 

They  went  together  to  the  little  cabin  at  the  far 
end  of  the  saloon,  which  Sister  Cecilia  shared  with 
another  Sister.  A  nun  was  reading  aloud,  but 
stopped  as  they  came  in. 

'I  am  so  sorry,'  said  the  girl,  'to  find  you  thus.' 

Cecilia  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  'It  is  not 
much;  and  then  I  am  accustomed  to  be  ill.  I 
often  have  been;  therefore  I  do  not  mind  it  as  you 
strong  people  might.' 

The  girl  sat  down  beside  her  and  dropped  some 
eau-de-cologne  upon  her  forehead.  Sister  Teresa 
slipped  quietly  away,  taking  the  other  Sister  with  her. 

'But  to  be  ill  so  far  from  home,  and  going  to  a 
strange  country.' 

'We  take  our  homes  within  us,  and  there  is  no 
country  that  God's  eye  cannot  see,  none  nearer 
Him  nor  farther.  Do  not  be  sorry  for  me.  Do 
you  not  see  that  I  am  happy  ? ' 

The  girl  saw.  That  was  what  drew  her  to  the 
nuns  —  that  they  were  happy.  And  yet  Cecilia 
looked  so  ill,  so  very  ill.  Her  face  was  thin  and 
hot;  it  burned  beneath  the  girl's  cool  fingers.  A 
sudden  fear,  a  certainty  took  her,  that  the  nun  was 
dying,  and  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  but  other  tears 
than  those  that  came  once  before  that  night. 

'You  think,'  said  Cecilia,  comprehending,  'that  I 
am  very  ill.' 

L 


146  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  she  could  not  trust  her 
words. 

'I  also  think  I  am.  The  doctor  says  it  is  but 
the  change,  a  chill,  a  fever  —  I  don't  know  what. 
But  I  feel  as  if  it  were  more  than  that.  I  think, 
perhaps,  I  shall  never  see  the  East,  but  shall  go 
straight  home  without  that  long  detour.' 

'It  is  a  way  of  talking,'  thought  the  girl,  'to  call 
death  "going  home";  it  is  an  attempt  to  cover  up 
the  fear/ 

'It  is  a  truth,'  said  the  nun,  divining.  'Some 
make  their  homes  on  earth.  They  marry;  they 
have  husbands,  children.  They  lend  their  hearts 
to  this  world.  They  make  their  treasures  here. 
They  do  as  God  has  made  them.  God  is  love. 
They  climb  to  His  great  love  by  little  steps,  of 
husband,  children,  country,  the  ever-widening 
circles.  We  go  to  the  Infinite  in  a  step.  So  God 
is  very  good  to  us.  Therefore  we  call  it  "going 
home."  Are  we  not  right  ?  For  where  the  treasure 
is,  there  will  the  heart  be  also.' 

The  utter  quiet  of  her  voice  made  music  of  the 
words.  They  put  a  truth  into  them  that  alone 
they  could  not  hold. 

'Tell  me,'  said  the  girl,  'what  is  the  true  way  of 
life  ?  Is  yours  the  only  true  one  ?' 

'There  is  a  proverb,'  said  the  nun,  'that  says  all 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  147 

roads  lead  to  Rome.  Each  takes  the  road  that 
opens,  and  for  her  that  is  the  only  road.  So  all 
loves  lead  to  God.  To  take  the  love  that  comes 
to  you,  that  is  given  to  you,  is  to  take  the  only  true 
one.' 

The  girl  was  silent,  thinking.  The  way  to  heaven 
is  through  love  alone.  That  was  a  new  way  of 
putting  it.  To  be  a  Sister  and  to  renounce  the 
world  was  not  to  cut  off  love,  but  to  attain  a  wider 
one,  to  go  at  one  step  from  the  finite  to  the  infinite. 
That  was  its  meaning.  Then  the  lives  of  Sisters 
had  a  meaning,  not  only  to  themselves,  but  to  the 
world.  For  they  kept  before  it  always  the  remem- 
brance that  there  is  another  love  to  lose  yourself  in 
besides  marriage,  and  another  immortality  besides 
that  of  children. 

Cecilia  coughed  —  a  painful,  hacking  cough  that 
tore  and  wounded. 

'You  should  not  talk,'  the  girl  said;  'it  makes 
you  cough.  And  I  came  here  to  help  you  and  be 
kind  to  you,  and  not  to  ask  these  things  from  you.' 

'Then  let  me  talk,'  said  the  nun.  'You  know 
that  from  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth 
speaketh;  and  to  talk  to  you  makes  me  realise  it 
all  the  more  myself.  It  is  like  showing  one's  treas- 
ure to  some  one  that  we  love.  You  do  not  mind  ?' 

'I  like  to  hear  you  talk,'  she  answered.     'You 


148  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

make  all  things  seem  different.  To  you  religion 
is  a  love,  and  that  only.  It  has  seemed  to  me  a 
fear  sometimes.  If  you  give  up  the  world,  it  is 
not  that  you  love  it  less,  or  that  you  despise  it,  but 
that  you  love  something  more  ?  I  think  I  should 
like  to  be  a  nun.' 

Cecilia  shook  her  head  and  smiled  a  queer  little 
protecting  smile,  as  of  a  mother  to  a  child  who 
asks  to  be  grown  up  at  once.  And  yet,  if  any- 
thing, she  was  the  younger  of  the  two.  The  girl 
saw  and  coloured. 

'Why  should  I  not?'  she  asked;  'and  how  should 
I  know  ? ' 

'Sister,'  said  Cecilia,  'no  one  becomes,  or  should 
become,  a  nun  because  she  wishes  to,  because  she 
thinks  she  would  like  to  be  so.  That  is  not  the 
way.  You  do  not  understand.  Consider.  Should 
a  woman  marry  because  she  wishes  to  marry,  be- 
cause she  thinks  that  in  the  abstract  the  married  is 
the  better  life,  because  she  wants  a  home,  because 
she  does  not  wish  to  be  alone  ?  The  only  real 
marriage  is  when  love  compels  her;  when  a  man 
calls  to  her,  and  the  call  echoes  in  her  heart,  and 
answers  to  him.  Would  you  have  her  ask  the  man 
to  marry  her  and  he  indifferent  ?  Would  that  be 
a  marriage  ?  If  not  with  man,  how  should  it  be  with 
God  ?  The  real  brides  of  Christ  are  those  to  whom 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  149 

He  calls  and  bids  them  come,  and  so  they  must; 
they  must.  They  do  not  think.  They  cannot  think. 
A  fire  devours  them,  and  there  is  a  mist  within  the 
brain.  If  God  wants  you,  so  will  He  call  you.  And 
if  not,  then  He  has  other  work  for  you  to  do  and  other 
love  to  fill  your  heart.  And  do  not  think  one  love  is 
earthly  and  another  heavenly.  All  love  that  makes 
you  lose  yourself  is  God.'  She  laid  her  hot  lips  on 
the  girl's  fresh  ones.  'Do  not  think,'  she  whispered. 
'Listen.  If  it  is  the  mind  that  seeks,  it  is  the  heart 
that  finds.  When  God  calls,  you  will  hear  it  then. 
He  calls  with  many  voices.  The  voice  which  says, 
"Go  to  the  sick  and  friendless,  to  the  poor;  help 
them  and  love  them,"  that  is  God's  voice.  The 
voice  that  says,  "Work  hard;  cultivate  then  the 
talent  that  you  have,  for  your  work  will  help  your 
family,  your  nation,  or  humanity,"  that  is  God's 
voice.  And  if  a  man  says  to  you,  "Come  to  me," 
and  you  know  that  you  must  go,  that  is  God's  voice 
also.  You  surely  will  hear  it  if  you  listen.' 
'And  if  I  listen,  and  I  hear  it,  then  ?' 
'You  will  be  happy.  No  matter  what  happens, 
you  will  be  happy.  For  you  have  God  within 
your  heart  —  as  I  have.' 

The  nun  leant  back  exhausted.  Her  soul  had  come 
up  to  her  lips  to  speak,  to  give  its  message.  And 
now  a  weariness  came  to  her,  and  she  almost  slept. 


150 '  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

Sister  Teresa  looked  in  softly.  She  came  up  to 
the  girl  and  laid  her  hand  upon  her.  'Come/ 
she  said,  'I  think  that  now  you  both  will  sleep. 
Her  restlessness  is  gone  —  and  yours.' 

The  girl  looked  at  her  comprehendingly. 

'How  did  you  know?'  she  asked,  when  they 
had  come  without  the  door.  'How  did  you  know 
I  wanted  her  and  she  me  ?' 

'I  did  not  know.  I  do  not  know  now  what  she 
has  said  to  you  nor  you  to  her.  I  do  not  want  to 
know/ 

'Why  did  you  bring  me,  then  ?' 

But  Sister  Teresa  only  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

'I  THINK,'  said  Warden,  'that  this  Red  Sea  is 
making  us  all  fractious.' 

He  looked  across  the  hard  blue  sea  to  the  barren 
hills  which  raised  themselves  in  staring  nakedness 
into  the  burning  air.  They  wore  not  the  least  sem- 
blance of  green  garment  anywhere  —  no  trees,  no 
grass,  no  bushes.  Their  flanks  were  red  and  yel- 
low, and  threw  back  the  light  in  utter  shamelessness; 
even  in  their  valleys  there  was  not  a  sign  of  verdure, 
only  the  mauve  and  lilac  shadows  that  the  desert 
makes.  It  might  have  been  a  world  burnt  out  of 
clay,  with  molten  china  for  a  sea.  And  in  that 
furnace  blew  a  wind  hot,  rough,  and  dry,  that  burned 
the  skin,  and  brought  with  it  a  fine  dust  to  hurt  the 
eyes  and  lips. 

'Holt  has  become  a  restless,  moody,  dull  tramp,' 
continued  Warden.  'He  moves  about  the  deck 
trying  to  find  a  place  to  be  alone  in.  If  you  go  near 
him  he  glares  at  you  and  moves  elsewhere.' 

'Indeed?'  asked  Mrs.  Holman. 

'Yes,  indeed,  indeed.  Do  not  we  share  a  cabin? 

'Si 


i52  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

He  glares  at  me,  however,  to  such  an  extent  when  I 
go  in,  that  he  has  frightened  me.  I  dress  by  stealth 
now,  and  I  go  to  bed  in  fear  and  trembling.  How- 
ever, he  is  not  the  only  one.  Othello  and  Hamlet 
both  are  mad.  They  frown  upon  each  other  like 
thunder-clouds.  I  think,  for  safety's  sake,  the 
Captain  should  put  them  both  in  irons  in  the  hold. 
Then  the  Professor  — 

'  Has  it  affected  him  as  well  ?  He  looks  quite 
happy  writing  there.  He  even  laughs.' 

'That's  the  worst  sign  of  all.  He  laughs  as  the 
hyaena  does  that  licks  its  gory  lips.  He  is  scathing 
some  one  with  an  article  or  a  review,  which  he  will 
send  home  from  Aden.  He  laughs  ha,  ha,  in  fiendish 
glee  at  every  envenomed  bite.  Your  husband  - 

'What,  Harry  too?  He  is  all  right,  the  same 
as  usual.' 

'You  think  so,  do  you?  That  shows  how  little 
wives  know  really  about  their  husbands.  Had  I 
not  intervened  he  would  have  utterly  destroyed 
Graham  last  night.  I  threw  myself  between  them 
at  imminent  peril  to  myself.  If  I  escape  from  this 
sea  safe  and  sound  I  shall  be  surprised.' 

'What  was  the  quarrel  ?' 

'A  mere  nothing.  Holt,  the  Professor,  your  hus- 
band, and  myself  were  sitting  in  the  smoking-room; 
we  sat  and  smoked  and  drank,  not,  I  must  say,  in 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  153 

friendliness  and  pleasant  intercourse,  but  in  a  strained 
and  violent  sort  of  truce.  Still  it  was  a  truce,  and 
occasionally  some  one  made  a  remark,  of  some  osten- 
tatiously simple  nature,  just  so  that  the  silence  should 
not  become  too  unbearable.  Some  one  had  just 
said  they  wondered  if  there  were  any  animals  in 
these  hills,  when  Graham  entered.  He  stared  about 
him,  threw  himself  upon  a  seat,  and  answered  — 
"Lions";  we  all  kept  silence  except  your  husband, 
who  rashly  said,  "Nothing  but  lions?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Graham  fiercely;  "what  else 
could  live  in  such  a  place  but  lions?" 

"But  then,"  said  Holman,  "if  there  are  lions, 
there  must  be  deer  or  camels  or  oxen  for  them  to 
eat." 

*  "How  could  there  be  ?"  asked  Graham.  "What 
could  they  eat  ?  Do  deer  eat  sand  ?  do  camels 
browse  on  rocks  ?  can  oxen  chew  a  cud  of  gravel  ? 
There's  nothing  else." 

'Your  husband  thought  a  little,  then  he  said: 
"If  you  come  to  that,  what  do  the  lions  eat  then, 
if  there  are  lions  ?" 

"They  are  carnivorous,  they  eat  each  other," 
said  Graham. 

'It  was  then  that  I  intervened,  and  rising  to  the 
occasion  I  told  your  husband  that  you  had  sent 
me  to  him,  and  I  had  forgotten  to  give  the  mes- 


i54  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

sage,  though  it  was  urgent.  I  prayed  him  to  lose 
no  time/ 

'He  didn't/  said  Mrs.  Holman.  'He  seemed 
surprised  when  I  said  it  must  be  a  mistake/ 

'The  Professor  basely  followed  him,  leaving 
Holt  and  me  to  stand  the  fire.  Then  Graham  let 
us  have  it.  He  warned  us  bachelors  against  mar- 
riage. He  said  it  was  a  fraud,  an  awful  do,  a  trap 
with  iron  teeth,  a  dead-sea  fruit.  He  was  as  full 
of  images  as  a  cinematograph. 

4  He  said  it  was  a  scheme  to  get  a  man  to  work 
that  a  woman  might  do  nothing.  He  said  that  it 
was  a  lottery  —  all  blanks  with  hardly  ever  a  prize. 
Before  marriage  men  lived  in  comfort  and  in  liberty. 
If  they  had  a  house  it  was  their  own;  with  marriage 
they  surrendered  it.  She  took  the  best  room  for 
her  drawing-room,  and  the  man  had  to  put  up  with 
a  tiny  back  room  to  sit  and  work  and  smoke  in. 
She  took  the  best  bedroom  for  herself,  the  next  best 
for  her  guests;  he  got  .a  little  dressing-room.  She 
took  his  income,  and  allowed  him  at  best  to  keep 
a  trifle  for  himself.  The  wife  of  the  working  man 
drove  him  from  his  house,  and  then  blamed  him  for 
going  to  the  bar,  and  tried  to  get  the  bars  shut  by 
law.  She ' 

'You  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  to  listen  to 
him/ 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  155 

'You  cannot  blame  us/  answered  Warden.  'Holt 
and  I  are  not  married;  we  are  inquirers,  humble 
learners  of  the  mysteries.  We  hear  so  much  of  one 
side  of  it  from  you  and  Holman,  we  naturally  like 
to  hear  the  other/ 

Mrs.  Holman  shook  her  head  at  him. 

'And  besides/  he  continued,  'you  are  just  as 
bad.  Did  I  not  hear  you  women  listening  to  Mrs. 
Graham  yesterday  while  she  expounded  to  you  the 
villainies  of  man  ?' 

Mrs.  Holman  laughed.  'She  gave  us  a  lecture 
on  the  suffrage/ 

'Well.  Is  not  that  the  same  ?  The  suffrage ! 
She  wants  to  be  a  man  and  become  —  well,  I  won't 
say  what.  Heaven  made  her  a  woman,  she  wants 
to  pretend  to  be  a  man.  You  listened/ 

'We  could  not  get  away/ 

'You  let  Miss  Ormond  listen,  that  innocent  young 
girl/ 

'She  did  not  listen  long.  She  went  away  with 
the  Professor/ 

'Lucky  Professor/  and  Warden  sighed. 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Mrs.  Holman  spoke 
again.  Her  tone  had  changed.  The  badinage  had 
left  it,  and  there  was  a  seriousness. 

'They  must  be  dreadfully  unhappy.  When  men 
and  women  talk  like  that,  and  rail  against  the  world 


156  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

and  its  necessities,  it  is  because  they  are  unhappy. 
They  have  made  failure,  so  they  blame  the  world  or 
marriage,  or  their  sex  or  men  or  women  and  not 
themselves.  They  think  and  say  marriage  has 
spoiled  them,  but  it  is  that  they  have  never  known 
what  marriage  is.  Marriage  is  union  and  it  is  a 
gift  of  God.  They  have  thought  that  it  is 
an  institution  made  by  man.  They  have  tried 
their  hands  at  it  and  failed.  Either  the  man 
or  woman,  or  both,  were  never  meant  at  all  for 
marriage,  or  it  was  for  marriage  with  some  one 
else/ 

Warden  nodded.  'I  think  it  is  so.  When  soldiers 
abuse  the  army  it  is  that  they  are  not  fitted  to  be 
soldiers.  They  have  made  a  great  mistake  in  en- 
tering. It  is  so  no  doubt  with  other  things.' 

Holman  had  come.  He  heard  what  Warden  said. 
*  Nothing  can  be  more  true/  he  said;  'and  that  is 
the  root  of  the  trouble  with  the  Grahams.  He  was 
an  excellent  soldier  and  devoted  to  his  work,  but  she 
made  him  leave  the  army/ 

'Why?' 

'She  has  some  idea  that  soldiering  is  wrong,  some 
dream  of  universal  peace  which  is  only  prevented 
by  armies  and  soldiers.  She  drove  this  into  him 
until  he  left.  And  he  has  never  ceased  regretting 
it.  He  has  nothing  to  do,  and  can  do  nothing.  He 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  157 

is  a  loafer  and  hates  himself  for  being  so,  and  she 
despises  him  for  the  same  reason.' 

'Despising  him,  the  man  she  thinks  she  knows 
best/  said  Warden,  'has  led  to  despising  all  of  us, 
mankind,  in  fact,  and  she  yearns  to  take  over  the 
world  from  our  mismanagement.  Yet  her  failure 
with  the  one  man  she  has  influence  over  might 
have  made  her  pause.' 

'She  does  not  think  it  is  her  fault,  but  his/  said 
Holman. 

'And  do  you  think/  asked  Warden  of  Mrs.  Hol- 
man, 'that  it  was  his  fault  or  hers  ?' 

'I  think/  she  answered,  'that  it  was  both.  A 
man's  work  is  part  of  him  and  he  must  choose  it. 
He  is  a  fool  if  he  lets  his  wife  dictate ;  she  is  a  fool 
to  try.  I  would  never  think  of  interfering  with 
Harry's  work,  or  of  letting  him  interfere  with  my 
management  of  the  babies.' 

'Did  he  ever  try?'  laughed  Warden. 

'He  had  better  not/  she  answered.  'There  is 
a  man's  side  of  life,  and  men  know  it;  there  is  a 
woman's  side,  and  women  know  it.  The  wise 
people  are  those  who  mind  their  own  affairs  in 
marriage  or  out  of  it,  and  leave  the  other  sex  to 
mind  those  which  nature  gave  them.  Why  should 
a  man  or  woman  marry  but  that  each  should  bring 
to  the  common  stock  that  which  the  other  lacks?1 


158  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'What  is  the  difference  then  between  a  man  and 
a  woman?'  asked  Warden,  greatly  daring. 

'They  see  the  world  from  different  standpoints/ 
answered  Mrs.  Holman,  'and  both  are  true.  A 
man  and  woman  are  as  the  two  eyes  that  give  per- 
spective, roundness,  and  reality  to  the  view.  Neither 
alone  sees  the  world  whole.' 

'Which  is  the  best  ?'  But  all  three  of  them  began 
to  laugh. 

Marriage  is  a  union  of  man  and  woman  into 
one  organism,  but  within  that  unit  both  remain  — 
neither  is  lost,  neither  is  robbed  of  one  particle  of 
his  value.  Nay  more,  within  the  shelter  of  that 
unit  each  gives  the  more  his  own  peculiar  qualities 
necessary  to  the  whole.  So  that  if  man  forget  he 
is  a  man,  or  woman  forget  she  is  a  woman,  ruin  is 
threatened  to  the  unit  and  to  each  component  of 
that  unit.  The  Grahams  each  forgot  that:  she 
invaded  a  province  not  hers,  and  he  surrendered. 
So  in  a  nation  there  is  the  male  and  female.  Each 
has  equal  value  to  the  whole,  each  contains  its  own 
qualities  and  virtues.  But  if  women  forget  that 
they  are  women,  always  women,  whether  rich  or 
poor,  wise  or  foolish,  married  or  unmarried,  seeing 
life  always  from  the  woman's  side,  with  women's 
strength  and  women's  weakness,  and  try  to  invade 
men's  duties;  if  men  forget  that  they  are  men,  and 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  159 

that  on  their  shoulders  lies  the  duty  of  government, 
then  is  chaos  come.  Women  and  men  have  lost 
their  value. 

'Salt  is  good:  but  if  the  salt  have  lost  its  savour, 
wherewith  shall  it  be  seasoned  ?' 

So,  added  to  the  heat,  the  dryness,  and  the  glare, 
this  trouble  between  the  Grahams  made  life  more 
difficult  on  the  Marcbesa.  The  men  liked  Graham. 
Taken  by  himself,  without  his  wife,  they  found  him 
clever,  humorous,  and,  beneath  his  brusqueness, 
kind.  Knowing  him  so,  they  blamed  his  wife  for 
all  the  quarrels,  and  they  resented  her  continual 
attacks  upon  their  sex.  The  women  liked  Mrs. 
Graham.  They  were  sorry  for  her.  They  saw 
her  bitterness  came  from  deep  unhappiness,  keen 
disappointment,  disillusion.  They  blamed  the  man. 
And  so  there  rose  a  sex  division  which  grew.  It 
might  indeed  have  threatened  all  their  comfort 
but  for  the  Holmans.  They  always  made  for 
peace.  They  laughed  and  kept  their  tempers. 
They  stifled  all  discussion  and  argument.  They 
took  no  sides.  How  could  they  ?  Were  not  they 
one  ?  How  could  they  lean  to  either  side  ?  The 
right  eye  does  not  fight  the  left  because  it  sees  things 
differently.  The  left  hand  does  not  hate  the  right 
because  its  duties  are  not  the  same.  That  is  what 
gives  each  value,  that  the  other  is  there  to  balance  it. 


160  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

Even  the  girl  felt  in  herself  the  strain.  It  drove 
her  nearer  to  the  nuns.  It  made  their  life  seem 
calmer,  purer,  happier  for  the  ignoble  strife  of  sex 
about  them.  They  were  women,  they  were  free. 
Could  she  not  be  as  they  ? 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

SISTER  CECILIA  did  not  mend.  The  hot  air 
choked  her,  and  she  burned  in  a  continual  fever. 
So  the  girl  went  often  down  to  sit  with  her.  She 
heard  the  Sisters  talk,  she  stayed  and  joined  their 
prayers,  and  there  grew  within  her  heart  a  new 
conception  of  the  faith  which  she  thought  hers, 
but  had  never  understood.  Dead  formulas  that 
had  been  only  words  surrounding  nothing,  rose 
into  a  new  life  and  meaning.  Things  that  had 
seemed  far  off  came  nearer  and  nearer,  words  of 
two  thousand  years  ago  became  thoughts  of  to-day, 
and  dreams  hardened  into  reality.  It  was  as  if  the 
morning  mists  had  taken  form  and  substance;  had 
come  to  her  as  a  real  presence,  speaking  with  human 
voice,  touching  her  with  warm  and  living  fingers. 

She  saw  and  knew  that  this  faith  was  a  woman's 
faith.  The  earlier  faith,  that  which  came  from 
yonder  burning  Mount  Sinai,  was  a  man's  faith. 
It  was  full  of  strength,  of  hardness  and  revenge, 
of  blood  and  death;  it  was  for  men,  and  women 
had  no  part  in  it.  Even  the  sons,  the  immortality, 

M  101 


162  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

belonged  to  the  father  and  not  the  mother.  Before 
that  faith  women  were  nothing  save  an  adjunct  to 
men.  It  was  a  great  and  beautiful  faith,  and  is 
still  true.  Every  truth  endures  for  ever,  but  it  has 
others  added  to  it.  This  later  faith  stands  on  the 
earlier,  as  woman  does  on  man.  And  this  faith  of 
Christ  was  woman's  faith.  How  different  was  it 
to  the  former!  The  old  God  spoke  in  thunder 
from  a  mountain,  but  the  new  in  a  child's  voice. 
He  was  not  man's  God;  man  had  no  part  in  Him. 
He  had  no  earthly  father.  This  God  was  born  of 
woman,  and  of  woman  only,  to  be  a  God  of  woman, 
to  tell  of  the  pity  and  the  compassion  that  is  woman's, 
to  decry  all  that  men  hold  in  honour,  to  exalt  the 
virtues  that  women  love  in  themselves.  All  this 
mystery  of  the  Virgin  birth,  which  had  been  before 
but  a  vague  nothing,  became  a  light  to  see  by.  It 
was  by  woman  that  this  truth  came,  and  for  woman, 
because  it  was  her  own. 

A  great  reverence  and  love  rose  in  her  for  this 
Mother  of  God,  for  her  through  whom  God  became 
manifest,  who  alone  had  given  Him  to  the  world. 
In  the  nun's  cabin  there  was  a  large  photograph 
of  Raphael's  great  picture,  now  in  the  Dresden 
Gallery,  and  it  seemed  to  the  girl  that  this  expressed 
the  secret  of  religion.  It  was  the  woman,  not  the 
man,  the  Virgin  with  her  child,  Motherhood  with- 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  163 

out  Fatherhood,  that  was  the  saving  of  the  world. 
Men  were  to  kneel  before  it  and  adore  it,  as  did  the 
Pope  in  the  great  picture. 

If  woman  was  second  to  man  on  earth  in  this 
life,  was  weak  and  unregarded,  it  was  because  the 
world  was  wicked,  because  it  was  man-made  and 
man-ruled.  In  Heaven  it  would  be  otherwise. 
Heaven  was  a  woman's  Paradise.  In  Heaven  there 
is  no  marrying  and  no  giving  in  marriage. 

These  thoughts  brought  to  her  a  new  peace,  a 
great  comfort,  a  self-respect  she  feared  that  she 
was  losing.  Who  can  respect  herself  if  she  thinks 
her  sex  is  inferior,  created  to  be  second  to  man, 
whose  only  chance  is  to  imitate  and  copy  man  ? 
Who  is  there  who  while  saying  that  they  wish  to 
do  so,  and  even  do  so,  does  not  feel  in  herself  the 
foolishness,  the  uselessness  ?  Now  a  new  truth 
had  come  to  her,  she  thought.  Woman  was  nearer 
God,  purer,  more  holy.  Had  God  honoured  man 
as  He  did  woman  then  Christ  would  have  had  an 
earthly  father  as  He  had  an  earthly  mother.  But 
it  was  not  so.  The  whole  force  of  her  love  and 
reverence  that  had  been  pent  up  for  want  of  some- 
thing to  rest  on,  that  had  made  her  unhappy  because 
it  could  find  no  fitting  subject,  poured  forth  upon 
the  Virgin  Mother. 

She    began    then    to    understand    the    crucified 


1 64  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

Christ  that  the  nuns  wore.  She  had  at  first  been 
repelled,  had  feared  this  crucifix  as  a  grue- 
some and  unhappy  memory.  If  it  was  neces- 
sary to  have  a  Christ  at  all  and  not  a  Virgin, 
why  not  a  living  Christ,  as  when  He  spoke  to  the 
children,  or  a  risen  Christ,  as  when  He  appeared  to 
the  disciples  ?  Why  this  lifeless,  tortured,  terrible 
dead  thing  upon  a  cross  ?  It  frightened  her  —  at 
first  —  and  then  it  filled  her  soul  with  pity.  Sud- 
denly she  realised  that  was  its  meaning  —  pity,  be- 
cause pity  is  the  Catholic  quality  that  makes  the 
whole  world  one.  It  is  woman's  Catholic  quality, 
not  man's.  It  is  pity  for  the  suffering  world  —  and 
all  the  world  suffers  some  time  or  another  —  that 
draws  it  to  a  pitying  God.  And  this,  too,  is  a  woman's 
symbol,  and  not  a  man's.  No  man  cares  to  dwell 
on  pain,  on  suffering,  on  the  aspect  of  death.  Man 
is  the  maker;  he  loves  the  beautiful,  he  hates  the 
weak  and  ugly  and  inefficient.  That  is  what  binds 
him  to  the  world  —  his  love  of  everything  beautiful. 
Unbeautiful  things  he  would  away  with.  It  is  the 
love  of  strength,  health,  colour,  life  that  he  feels 
strongest.  It  is  pity  for  weakness,  sickness,  death  that 
she  feels  most.  His  sacred  passion  which  he  shares 
with  God  is  Love;  hers  which  she  shares  with  God 
is  Compassion.  Man  has  his  work;  he  has  been 
dowered  with  qualities  to  do  it.  Woman  has  her 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  165 

work,  and  in  her  heart  she  has  her  truth.  Life  is  an 
alternation  between  the  two.  Either  alone  would 
fail.  Men  would  destroy  much  good  because  it 
seemed  to  be  weak;  women  would  preserve  much 
evil  out  of  pity. 

Therefore  the  crucifix  is  her  symbol,  and  not  his. 

It  was  not  that  she  realised  all  this  in  words, 
or  would  so  have  expressed  herself.  Nor  was  she 
told.  The  conviction  came  into  her  heart  slowly, 
silently,  like  dawn  across  the  hills,  making  it  beautiful. 
It  was  not  the  uncertain  flashing  of  barren  lightning, 
but  the  vivifying  sun  itself,  that  gives  heat  and  light 
and  happiness.  Often  now  she  would  sit  with  the 
Sisters  while  they  worked  or  read  or  were  silent, 
feeling  herself  in  sympathy  with  them. 

'I  think,'  said  Sister  Teresa,  'you  are  beginning 
to  understand.' 

She  smiled.  'Do  you  think  I  am?  What  makes 
you  think  so  ?' 

'You  look  more  happy.  You  used  to  be  vexed, 
to  be  troubled  about  something,  were  you  not?' 

'  I  used  to  be  foolish.     I  daresay  I  am  still.' 

The  Sister  smiled.  'We  all  are  at  some  time  or 
other.' 

'I  did  not  understand.  I  thought  it  was  all 
women's  fate  to  be  married,  whether  they  wanted  to 
or  not.  It  was  their  only  chance  in  life.' 


166  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'But  you  did  not  believe  it?' 

'No!' 

'It  is  the  lot  of  most  women.  It  is  a  happy  lot 
for  those  who  are  fitted  for  it  —  to  have  a  husband, 
children.  But  all  women  are  not  born  to  it,  and 
ours  is  happy  too  ? '  She  looked  up  with  a  question. 

'Yes,  I  believe  it.  I  know  it  now  since  I  have  seen 
you;  but  I  was  always  told  otherwise.' 

'That  there  was  no  possible  happiness  for  any 
woman  except  in  marriage?' 

'Yes.' 

'Poor  child!  and  is  that  all  your  Church  can  do 
for  you  ?  It  is  a  truth,  but  only  one  of  many.  Is 
the  world  so  poor,  so  commonplace,  that  it  has  only 
one  way  to  happiness?' 

'But  why,'  she  asked,  'should  it  always  be  religious 
Sisterhoods  that  women  seek  ?  Why  cannot  they 
join  together  for  friendship  and  companionship  with 
no  religious  tie  ?  Community  of  interest,  will  not 
that  do  ?' 

The  Sister  smiled.  'Community  of  interest! 
Will  that  bind  anything  for  long  ?  Will  it  fuse  a 
man  and  woman  into  one  ?  or  will  it  draw  women 
alone  or  men  into  communities  ?  or  families  into 
nations  ?  Never !  Only  love  will  do  that  wonder- 
ful thing.  It  is  a  sentiment,  a  heat  that  does  these 
miracles.  It  is  not  their  common  interest  that 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  167 

makes  soldiers  into  a  regiment,  but  a  love  to  some- 
thing higher,  richer,  than  themselves  —  their  regi- 
ment, their  country.  Only  a  love  can  do  it.  Find 
for  woman  a  love  outside  religion,  and  you  will 
found  secular  Sisterhoods.  But  until  then  take 
that  you  have.' 

'Some  things,'  the  girl  said,  'in  religion  are  so 
hard.  Why  should  we  give  up  all  the  world  because 
of  our  love  of  God  its  Maker  ?' 

The  Sister  shook  her  head.  'When  you  are 
called  you  will  not  think  of  that,'  she  answered. 
'  But  you  will  not  be  called.'  She  smiled. 

'  How  can  you  tell  ? ' 

'Look  at  me  in  the  eyes.' 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  The  girl 
saw  down  into  the  Sister's  soul  as  into  clearest 
heaven,  so  pure,  so  bright,  so  full  of  God's  own 
sunshine.  There  was  never  there  a  thought  of 
earth.  She  looked  into  infinity. 

The  nun  looked  into  the  girl's  eyes  and  saw  below 
a  human  heart.  Within  it  burned  a  fire  that  smoul- 
dered. It  waited  for  a  breath  to  fan  it  into  flame, 
to  make  of  it  a  blood-red  star.  It  was  the  star  that 
men  call  love.  It  burns  alone,  like  those  of  Salami 
and  Zulamith,  until  the  appointed  time. 

'You  will  do,'  said  Sister  Cecilia,  'whatever  is 
inevitable.  Only  the  inevitable  is  true.' 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  Professor  looked  about  him  and  shook  his 
head.  The  heat  troubled  him,  the  sand,  the  heart- 
less glare  of  sea  and  sky  and  distant  land.  But 
his  discomfort  was  physical  only.  His  mind  was 
quite  at  peace.  He  was  not  in  love  with  some  one 
he  could  not  get,  he  was  not  tied  to  some  one  he 
wanted  to  get  rid  of,  he  was  contented  with  his  sex 
and  way  of  life.  He  had  a  wife  and  children  whom 
he  loved  and  who  were  far  away.  This  caused  him 
sorrow,  because  he  felt  as  if  half  of  him  were  torn 
away.  But  pain,  that  is,  only  inevitable  pain,  can 
be  borne  with  dignity. 

If  then  he  shook  his  head,  it  was  at  what  he  saw, 
not  what  he  felt.  'The  mystery  plays  deepen,' 
he  thought;  'they  run  their  course.  How  will 
they  end  ?  What  will  be  the  denouements  ? 

'Already  there  is  some  result.  One  man  has 
ceased  pursuit.  To  Captain  Warden  it  has  become 
evident  he  is  not  in  love.  Perhaps  he  always  knew 
he  was  not.  He  has  realised  it,  and  become  a 

168 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  169 

simple  spectator  like  myself,  without,  however,  my 
acquired  knowledge.  On  the  other  hand,  Holt 
has  realised  he  is  in  love,  and  much  dislikes  the 
experience.  He  finds  it  painful,  sees  no  chance 
of  any  success,  and  is  furious  with  himself-  -'as  if 
he  could  have  helped  it,'  the  Professor  laughed. 

'The  girl  is  hiding  with  the  nuns.  Will  she 
come  out,  or  stay  there  ?  The  Indian  girl  is  more 
and  more  friendly  with  her  lovers.  She  is  like  a 
swimmer  who  catches  at  floating  things  to  keep 
upon  the  surface.  She  clings  to  them  because 
they  are  the  West,  and  she  feels  the  East  is  charm- 
ing her  back  to  itself.  In  Europe  she  acquired 
a  Western  facet  to  her  soul,  and  this  is  struggling 
for  self-preservation.  Which  will  win  ? 

'The  tie  that  fastens  the  Grahams  is  nearly 
breaking.  I  think  it  will  be  well  if  it  break,  or 
at  least  stretch  a  good  deal.  He  yearns  for  active 
life  again,  excitement,  danger  to  rouse  once  more 
the  man  within  him.  It  is  his  only  chance,  and 
hers,  that  they  should  each  find  their  sex  again 
in  solitude.  Even  the  Holmans  are  troubled.  But 
that  will  do  no  harm.  True  marriage  does  not 
mean  that  there  are  no  strains  upon  the  unity, 
but  that  the  unit  can  stand  them.  Theirs  will 
stand.  A  nun  is  dying,  and  all  the  Sisters  are  in 
terror  lest  she  should  die  before  they  reach  Aden 


1 7o  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

and  a  priest.  Religion'  —  and  the  Professor  shook 
his  head  again  —  'has  but  one  enemy,  and  that  is 
priestcraft. 

*I  think  we  are  unhappy  on  this  ship.' 
He  half  shut  his  eyes  and  he  began  to  dream. 
'We  have/  he  thought,  'at  our  universities  pro- 
fessors and  teachers  of  many  things.  There  are 
professors  of  rocks  and  stones,  of  sand  and  fossil 
bones.  Animals  have  their  students;  insects,  fish, 
and  birds.  We  study  languages  living  and  dead, 
literature,  history,  medicine,  surgery,  statecraft; 
the  list  is  endless.  There  is  but  one  exception, 
and  that  the  most  important  thing  in  life.  Where 
are  the  students  and  professors  of  love  ?  There 
are  not  any.  Yet  it  is  love  that  has  made  and 
kept  the  world.  It  alone  has  the  key  to  past,  to 
present,  and  to  future.  Therefore  we  ignore  it; 
we  do  not  study  it.  It  is  beneath  us. 

'It  holds  the  key.  Plants,  insects,  birds,  and 
animals  rise  in  the  scale  as  they  perceive  the  nature 
of  true  love  and  give  it  power.  So  is  it  with  the 
nations.  Show  me  in  past  or  present  a  nation  or 
a  people  that  has  understood  it,  and  I  will  show 
you  one  that  succeeds,  one  that  inherits.  But  the 
solution  of  the  problem  has  no  absolute.  It  is 
different  for  different  natures,  for  different  ages, 
different  necessities.  It  has  its  evolution.' 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  171 

The  Professor  got  out  his  memorandum-book 
and  pencil.  'I  will  make  notes,'  he  said  to  him- 
self. 'Maybe  I  will  write  a  book  about  it  some 
day,  or  become  Love's  first  lecturer. 

'Darwin  perceived  very  dimly  a  little  of  this 
truth.  He  made  Sexual  Selection  —  what  a  name  ! 
—  play  a  great  part  in  evolution.  But  he  restricted 
it  to  mere  physical  appearance,  feathers  and  such 
like.  How  little  he  observed  even  the  birds  and 
beasts,  for  all  of  them  have  their  loves.  They, 
when  in  freedom,  do  not  mate  by  chance  but  by 
selection,  and  the  attraction  is  not  mere  appear- 
ance —  as  far  as  that  goes  in  domesticity  we  can 
control  it  better.  So  we  raised  horses,  oxen,  birds, 
and  plants  that  are  larger,  stronger,  more  beauti- 
ful, but  without  vitality  or  intelligence.  Turn  out 
all  the  domestic  dogs  to  seek  a  living  where  the  wild 
dog  thrives  and  they  would  die.  The  same  with 
all.  Vitality,  passion,  love,  that  is  the  secret  of 
survival,  not  size  or  strength  or  even  intelligence. 
So  with  nations.  When  nations  decay,  look  at 
their  ideas  of  love  and  find  the  blot. 

'Why  did  the  East  decay  that  once  led  the  world  ? 
Because  she  mated  children  in  their  cradles.  She 
stifled  love's  selection,  and  bred  up  men  and  women 
without  initiative. 

'Why  did  Rome  fall?     Because  there  were  few 


172  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

Romans  left,  and  they  degenerate.  Rome  is  most 
striking  proof  of  all. 

'Why  did  the  Italian  Republics  rise  ?  Because, 
again,  they  found  out  love.  It  showed  in  all  their 
life;  it  made  that  great  burst  of  art.  My  young 
friend  Holt  looks  for  the  secret  Venice  had.  That 
was  her  secret.  Love  lit  her  life  —  the  lesser  and 
the  greater  loves. 

'The  Normans  conquered  Britain;  what  was  their 
battle-song?  "The  Song  of  Roland." 

'What  was  the  secret  of  England's  strength  in 
the  spacious  times  of  Great  Elizabeth  ?  It  was 
Love.  They  were  Love's  children  who  burst  forth 
and  conquered,  who  wrote  and  sung,  who  lived 
and  died. 

'Look  at  England  to-day.  Both  in  her  Church, 
her  State,  her  Society  she  has  made  a  fetish  of 
marriage.  Therefore  her  population  has  increased 
beyond  all  reason,  flowed  over  into  the  spare  places 
of  the  earth  while  it  could,  and  now  presses  on  her 
resources.  Her  great  men  have  disappeared.  Great 
sons  and  daughters  are  born  of  great  passions,  not 
of  a  commercial  morality.  Her  people  are  become 
a  fair  average  and  nothing  else.  She  is  decadent 
because  love  makes  hope,  and  love  she  has  despised. 
She  has  said  to  her  sons  and  daughters,  "Marry, 
marry,  marry!"  She  ought  to  have  said,  "The 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  173 

only  excuse  for  marriage  is  love.  If  you  do  not 
love,  then  do  not  marry."  She  should  have  made 
life  happy  for  her  sons  and  daughters  who  did  not 
marry.  But  she  has  despised  them.  The  men 
can  get  along  in  a  way,  because  their  work  brings 
them  into  touch  with  the  world.  But  what  of  the 
women  ? 

'Is  woman  nothing  in  herself?  has  she  no 
quality  to  the  State,  the  Church,  Society  ?  The 
English  State  says  "she  is  nothing";  the  Church 
says  "she  is  nothing";  Society  puts  her  aside.  It  is 
not  so  in  wiser  countries  or  in  wiser  times.  That 
is  the  sentiment  of  Judaism  to  which  Protestantism 
is  a  reversion.  A  Catholic  Church  knows  better. 
It  organises  Sisterhoods  of  all  kinds  to  enable 
woman  to  remain  single  and  yet  be  happy,  and 
have  companionship,  the  wider  sympathy  and 
knowledge,  to  cultivate  her  own  gifts  in  safety, 
to  exercise  her  due  influence  in  State,  Society,  and 
Church.  It  supplies  the  tie  of  sentiment  that  binds 
women  together,  which  gives  them  force,  freedom, 
happiness.  The  English  Church,  not  Catholic  but 
National,  not  Christian  but  Jewish,  cares  nothing 
for  them.  It  has  no  belief  in  men  or  women  unless 
they  are  married.  Its  priests  all  marry.  It  does 
not  recognise  that  the  State,  the  Church,  the  world 
wants  unmarried  men  and  women  as  much  as  it 


i74  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

does  married  couples;  that  they  have  their  talents 
also.  It  does  not  see  that  the  world  does  not  want 
the  children  of  conventional  marriages.  It  has  not 
seen  that  as  the  State  is  Man,  the  Church  is  Woman. 
No  wonder  that  the  women  at  last  rebel.  They 
have  a  grievance,  ay,  a  bitter  one.  God  help  them  ! 

'But  the  escape  is  not  by  pretending  to  be  men, 
by  denying  their  womanhood,  by  substituting  one 
falsehood  for  another.  They  should  have  influ- 
ence in  State,  but  not  gained  at  such  a  loss. 

'My  Germany  perhaps  is  following  in  England's 
steps.  Germany  was  the  most  sentimental  of 
nations,  now  it  is  the  strongest;  cause  and  effect, 
cause  and  effect.  If  it  become  material  it  will 
fall.  This  world  is  Love's  kingdom  —  and  the 
next/  The  Professor  laughed  cheerfully.  'What 
a  book  I  will  write.  All  of  it  will  be  true.  No 
one  will  believe.  Yet  the  Churches  ought  to  know. 
They  keep  always  saying  the  formula  that  Love  is 
God  and  God  is  Love,  and  then  interpreting  all 
sense  out  of  it. 

'My  friend '  it  was  Holt  who  passed  and 

stopped. 

'What  is  the  matter,  Professor?' 

'Why  move  about  so  restless  ?  Come  and  sit 
down.  Behold,  here  is  a  good  cigar.  I  write  a 
book  and  I  want  information.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  175 

Holt  sat  beside  the  Professor.  'And  can  I  fur- 
nish it  ?' 

'Perhaps.  Tell  me,  have  you  discovered  what  is 
the  secret  Venice  had  ? ' 

Holt  looked  surprised.  'No,' he  answered.  'How 
should  I  ?  We  have  left  Venice  behind.  How 
should  I  find  her  secrets  in  the  Red  Sea  ?' 

'Shall  I  tell  you?' 

'Yes,  if  you  know.' 

'I  know.  The  secret  is  simple,  that  of  love 
under  all  its  great  and  true  aspects.  Men  loved 
their  wives  and  wives  their  husbands  with  a  passion 
of  body  and  of  soul.  Men  loved  men  and  made 
societies,  women  loved  women  and  made  sister- 
hoods. They  loved  the  State.  They  were  reli- 
gious, for  they  knew  that  the  secret  of  religion, 
too,  is  love  —  that  of  humanity.  They  were  not 
afraid,  because  they  knew  that  when  man  loves, 
nothing  can  hurt  him,  even  death.  Is  not  there 
somewhere  a  song  to  that  effect  ?' 

'You  mean,'  asked  Holt,  'the  Song  of  Solomon?' 

'Perhaps,  my  friend,  you  may  be  able  to  give 
the  passage  in  the  English  version.  I  want  it  for 
my  book.' 

How  did  the  old  Professor  guess  that  Holt  had 
read  that  passage  lately,  ay,  and  others  too  of  that 
same  song;  or  perhaps  Holt  had  not  read,  but 


176  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

merely  had  brought  up  what  his  heart  needed  ? 
Was  the  Professor  qualifying  for  the  new  pro- 
fessorship ? 

Holt  laughed.  'Perhaps  you  mean,  "Love  is 
strong  as  death.  .  .  .  Many  waters  cannot  quench 
love,  neither  can  the  floods  drown  it :  if  a  man 
give  all  the  substance  of  his  house  for  love,  it  would 
utterly  be  contemned." 

The  Professor  nodded.  'I  like  your  English 
text/  he  said.  'And  now,  tell  me,  is  it  not  true  ?' 

'That  love  was  the  secret  Venice  had?* 

'Not  Venice  only,  but  every  man  and  woman, 
every  city,  every  nation  that  has  come  to  happi- 
ness, to  success,  to  immortality.' 

'Venice  died;  why  did  she  die  ?* 

'What  does  it  matter  to  die  ?  We  all  must  die, 
men  and  nations  all.  But  we  shall  be  born  again, 
those  of  us  who  know  what  love  is.  We  shed  old 
fleshly  garments  and  put  on  new  robes.  As  long  as 
love  remains  then  life  renews  itself.  For  love  is  life 
and  immortality.' 

Holt  said,  'How  did  you  find  that  truth,  Pro- 
fessor ? ' 

'How  do  you  know  that  what  I  say  is  true  ?' 

How  did  he  know  ?  But  first  to  be  answered 
was  the  question,  did  he  know  that  what  the  Pro- 
fessor said  was  true  ?  Yes,  he  knew.  Then  how 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  177 

did  he  know  ?  How  did  the  certainty  come  to  him  ? 
Not  out  of  thought  or  study.  His  mind  had  sought, 
but  his  heart  it  was  that  found.  They  both  were 
silent.  The  Professor's  thoughts  went  back.  How 
had  he  himself  learnt  it  ?  Out  of  books  or  lectures, 
out  of  thoughts  or  dreams  ?  No,  but  from  blue  eyes 
that  had  looked  into  his,  from  lips  which  did  not 
utter  words,  from  hands  that  did  not  write.  And 
the  knowledge  went  on  growing  always.  Holt  was 
silent  for  a  time,  then  said : 

'You  say,  Professor,  that  the  world  should  follow 
Love.  Therefore  each  man  and  woman  should  do  so.' 

'Of  course.' 

'What  if  he  cannot?  If  he  love,  but  his  love 
be  not  returned  ?' 

The  Professor  laughed  again  —  not  loudly,  but 
with  a  mellow  rumble  of  amusement  and  of  gaiety. 

'And  still  you  do  not  understand,'  he  said.  'You 
think  love  is  of  one  person.  It  is  not.  Love  is  a 
heat  between  two.  It  is  the  result  of  both  acting 
on  each  other.  Action  and  reaction  are  always 
equal.' 

'It  does  not  appear  so  always.' 

'It  always  does  appear  so  to  those  who  have 
eyes  to  see.  No  great  and  real  love  was  ever  unre- 
turned.  It  could  not  be.  But  the  manifestation 
in  each  is  different.' 


178  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'As  different,'  said  Holt  lugubriously,  'as  the 
equator  and  the  pole.' 

'Just  so,'  said  the  Professor,  and  made  no  further 
answer.  But  as  Holt  was  going  away  he  asked  : 

'What  of  the  book  I  lent  you,  Primitive  Marriage? 
Did  you  read  it  ?' 

'No,  I  did  not  read  it;  you  told  me  it  was  no 
good/ 

'I  never  said  so,'  the  Professor  remonstrated. 
'It  is  most  valuable.  I  told  you  to  read  and  dis- 
believe.' 

'You  mean,  believe  the  opposite  of  what  he  says  ? 
Well,  I  will  go  and  do  so.  This  Red  Sea  makes  dis- 
belief in  anything  quite  easy.  I  can  hardly  believe 
there  ever  was  a  Europe.' 

'Or  that  there  ever  will  be  Eden,  eh  ?' 

'  Do  you  mean  Aden  ?  We  shall  get  there  to- 
morrow, I  believe.' 


CHAPTER  XX 

As  they  drew  towards  the  end  of  the  Red  Sea  the 
heat  grew  worse.  They  seemed  to  be  within  a 
reverberating  furnace,  where  the  heat  came  back 
from  roof  and  wall  and  floor,  from  sea  and  sky 
and  mountain.  A  hot  wind  blew  from  off  the 
desert,  a  sirocco  whose  fevered  breath  penetrated 
everywhere.  You  could  not  get  away  from  it; 
on  deck  or  in  the  cabin  there  was  no  peace.  It 
moaned  among  the  rigging.  With  all  the  fury  of 
the  wind  there  was  a  breathlessness  as  if  there  was 
no  air  to  breathe.  There  was  a  band  about  each 
chest  and  forehead  like  an  iron  ring. 

The  sun  set  in  a  crimson  rayless  ball  that  had 
no  light,  but  only  suffering;  when  it  disappeared 
the  night  brought  no  relief.  The  darkness  closed 
upon  them,  the  furnace  door  was  shut. 

All  day  Sister  Cecilia  had  been  dying.  The  hot 
wind  drew  the  life  from  her  as  from  a  flower,  and 
when  the  dark  came  she  grew  quickly  worse. 

She  had  been  moved  from  her  small  cabin  to 
the  hospital,  a  larger  room  with  portholes  opening 

179 


180  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

forward,  and  a  skylight  on  the  deck.  But  they 
were  all  closed,  for  the  wind  blew  in  at  every  open- 
ing, bringing  its  heat  and  sand  and  misery.  An 
electric  fan  moved  the  close  air  to  and  fro,  but  the 
heat  was  great,  and  the  beat  of  the  engines  shook 
the  room.  The  doctor  came  and  went  and  came 
again,  but  he  could  do  nothing.  Death's  hand  was 
on  her  —  not  cold,  but  hot  and  burning,  her  eyes 
were  lit  with  fever,  and  her  cheeks  were  flushed. 
Sister  Teresa  knelt,  and  with  infinite  tenderness 
looked  on  the  dying  girl.  Teresa's  face  was  calm, 
her  eyes  serene  and  confident,  while  in  her  heart 
there  lay  a  terror.  It  was  a  terror  worse  than  death, 
a  helplessness  that  nothing  could  succour,  a  hope- 
lessness that  saw  no  light  of  hope.  She  held  before 
the  sightless  eyes  a  crucifix. 

The  girl  was  dying,  passing  from  this  world 
to  that  which  is  beyond.  Her  consciousness  had 
gone  before,  her  speech  had  ceased,  her  soul  was 
fluttering  on  her  lips,  and  in  a  moment  she  might 
pass.  Never  another  dawn,  never  even  another  beat 
of  the  ship's  bell  that  rang  the  hours,  would  come 
and  she  be  here. 

Sister  Cecilia,  whither  art  thou  going  ? 

Without,  in  the  corner  of  the  deserted  saloon, 
the  other  Sisters  knelt.  They  could  not  help  ex- 
cept by  prayer.  One  of  them  was  going  into  the 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  181 

unknown.  She  went  alone.  They  could  not  go 
with  her.  And  with  them  sat  the  girl.  They  let 
her  come  and  sit  with  them,  and  watch  till  the 
end  came.  When  others  had  come  and  offered 
help,  or  wished  to  speak,  they  shook  their  heads 
in  silence  and  motioned  the  inquirer  to  go  away. 
But  the  girl  was  different.  She  could  stop,  and 
watch  and  grieve  and  pray  with  them.  We  admit 
every  one  to  our  joy,  but  we  keep  our  sorrows 
sacred  and  concealed.  We  share  them  not  with 
all,  but  only  with  those  who  understand.  For  in 
their  hearts  too  was  a  fear  —  not  fear  of  death,  but 
worse;  because  there  was  no  priest,  no  priest. 

Sister  of  mine,  thou  passest,  whither  dost  thou 
go  ?  Thou  goest  all  alone  into  the  dark.  There 
is  a  way  for  souls  that  leads  through  dark  to  light, 
but  canst  thou  find  it  all  alone  ?  and  canst  thou 
tread  so  narrow  and  so  difficult  a  path  without 
a  guide  ?  and  will  they  let  thee  in  all  unconfessed 
and  unassoilzied  into  the  light  where  every  speck 
is  seen  ?  Sister  of  mine,  would  that  I  could  go 
with  thee;  would  that  thy  sins  would  stay  with 
me,  and  thou  go  free. 

There  was  no  priest,  no  priest. 

They  knelt,  their  faces  in  their  hands,  and  through 
their  fingers  dripped  salt  tears.  They  murmured 
prayers  that  sounded  like  an  echo  to  the  waves  that 


182  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

washed  the  ship.  Their  great  distress  entered  the 
girl's  soul  too.  She  knelt  with  them  and  she 
prayed. 

Sister  of  mine,  thine  eyes  are  dim,  yet  canst 
thou  see  the  cross,  the  God  upon  the  Cross.  He 
died  for  thee,  for  all  of  us,  and  He  will  lead  thee. 
He  will  come  Himself  if  He  knew  that  none  of 
His  servants  can  come  to  thee.  Canst  thou  not 
feel  Him  here  ?  In  the  gloom  that  gathers  are  there 
not  lights,  His  eyes  that  look  to  thine  ?  Is  there 
not  a  hand  that  closes  on  thy  hand  and  leads 
thee  ? 

Sister  Teresa's  prayer  went  upward  to  the  heaven. 
There  was  no  priest,  but  God  is  God.  She  poured 
her  hope,  her  urgent  summons,  up  to  the  gates  that 
He  might  hear  and  come.  She  willed  that  God 
should  know.  Surely  the  Bridegroom  Christ  would 
not  forget  His  Bride  who  came  to  Him,  who  would 
be  lost  unless  He  heard. 

Her  wedding  night  was  come,  the  Bride  was 
ready.  But  one  thing  lacked  —  there  was  no  priest, 
no  priest  to  join  Christ  and  His  Bride. 

The  hot  air  fluttered  to  and  fro,  the  engines 
throbbed  unceasingly.  Their  sound  became  an 
agony  that  pressed  into  the  brain.  They  throbbed 
and  moaned  and  cared  not.  What  was  life  or 
death  to  them  ? 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  183 

The  end  was  very  near.  The  nun's  lips  opened 
and  her  eyes  grew  brighter.  Teresa  held  the  cross 
still  nearer  to  her. 

'Oh  that  I  were  a  man,  a  priest,'  she  sobbed, 
'to  give  that  which  no  woman  can  give.'  She  felt 
her  weakness.  'Had  I  been  a  man  I  would  have 
been  a  priest,  and  this  my  sister  would  have  gone  to 
Heaven  in  shining  robes  of  sinlessness.  Can  she 
meet  Christ  without  a  wedding  dress  of  purity  ? 
But  I  am  only  a  woman/ 

Cecilia's  eyes  opened  still  wider,  a  smile  came  on 
her  lips  and  she  was  dead.  Her  soul  had  passed 
into  the  night,  and  Teresa  sat  there  solitary  beside 
the  dead. 

For  a  while  she  sat,  stunned  with  her  sorrow,  un- 
knowing that  the  end  had  come.  Then  suddenly 
there  came  to  her  a  sense  that  she  was  all  alone. 
Her  sister  had  gone  from  her.  Within  these  four 
close  walls  there  was  no  other  life  but  hers.  She 
rose  and  went  into  the  outer  cabin,  and  dropped 
upon  her  knees  beside  the  others. 

They  prayed,  and  sobs  mixed  with  their  prayers. 
The  sobs  became  a  passion  that  drove  through  all 
their  hearts,  a  storm  that  swept  across  a  midnight 
sea.  There  was  no  light,  no  hope;  no  stars  shone 
on  that  sea,  the  clouds  hung  low  and  touched  the 
waters. 


1 84  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

The  passion  calmed  itself  and  they  knelt  there 
in  silence. 


'My  dear,  my  dear/  said  Mrs.  Holman. 

'Sister  Cecilia  is  dead,'  said  the  girl. 

'I  know,  I  know;  but  you  must  not  stay  here. 
It  is  so  late.' 

'I  did  not  think  of  it.' 

'Come  now  with  me.  There  is  nothing  you 
can  do,  and  you  want  rest.' 

She  passed  her  arm  round  the  girl's  waist  and 
lifted  her.  The  nuns  took  no  notice.  They  knelt, 
and  their  prayers  went  up  unceasingly. 

'I  did  not  know  that  you  cared  for  her  so 
much/ 

'It  is  not  that/  replied  the  girl. 

They  passed  along  to  the  girl's  cabin  and  entered 
there. 

'What  then  is  it?' 

'She  died  without  a  priest/ 

'Is  that  so  great  a  matter?' 

'They  say  perhaps  she  will  not  get  to  Heaven. 
Perhaps  she  is  now  in  Purgatory,  to  wait  who  knows 
how  long/ 

'Because  she  had  not  a  priest  to  confess  her  and 
give  her  absolution  ?' 

'Yes.     Do  you  think  that  it  is  so  ?'" 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  185 

*I  do  not  know.  How  should  I  know?  I  think 
they  are  mistaken.  I  am  sure  no  Church  would  say 
such  a  terrible  thing.  I  am  sure  if  any  Church  said 
so  it  would  not  be  true.  The  keys  of  Heaven  are 
in  God's  hands,  not  man's.  Do  not  trouble,  Sister 
Cecilia  has  gone  home.  For  Heaven  to  her  will  be 
no  strange  or  unknown  place,  but  home.' 

The  girl  was  silent,  she  was  not  undeceived. 
It  was  not  the  religious  dogma  that  troubled  her.  It 
was  another  matter.  She  had  thought  that  in  the 
nun's  life  she  had  seen  a  way  in  which  women  could 
fulfil  themselves  alone  without  men.  They  were 
sufficient  to  themselves,  and  if  women  could  be  so 
as  nuns,  why  not  in  other  ways  of  life  ?  It  was  not 
that  she  had  wanted  herself  to  be  a  nun,  that  she  had 
been  drawn  to  them,  but  because  to  her  they  dis- 
proved the  saying  that  was  always  being  thrust  upon 
her,  that  to  women  man  was  a  necessity.  They  had 
seemed  to  live  without  men  in  their  own  purity  and 
strength.  And  now  she  had  suddenly  realised  it  was 
not  so.  If  they  had  so  lived  it  was  partly  because 
of  the  priest,  because  of  his  teaching,  guidance,  care. 
They  had  not  lived  without  men,  nor  could  they  die 
without  one.  The  world  was  always  man's. 

And  from  the  girl's  silence  the  older  woman  felt 
that  she  did  not  understand. 

'Let  us  talk,'  she  said.     'It  is  too  hot  to  sleep  just 


1 86  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

yet,  and  you  are  too  troubled.'  So  in  the  dark 
they  talked,  and  in  some  way  the  girl  made  her 
understand. 

'They  are  both  men's  worlds,'  she  said;  'this 
and  the  next.  They  keep  this  by  their  strength, 
the  next  by  their  priestcraft.  We  cannot  escape 
from  them.' 

Mrs.  Holman  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  'Nei- 
ther this  world  nor  the  next  is  man's  nor  woman's, 
but  both  worlds  belong  to  them  and  us.  They  can- 
not do  without  us,  nor  we  them.  Are  not  half  the 
virtues  ours  and  half  the  strength  ?  And  have  they 
not  the  other  half?  In  this  world  we  live  as  separate 
entities,  man  and  woman,  and  even  then  neither 
can  do  without  the  other.  In  the  next ' 

They  climbed  the  stairs  and  came  out  on  the  deck. 
The  wind  had  ceased,  the  sea  was  still.  The  ship 
passed  through  a  narrow  strait  like  a  broad  river. 
It  was  the  Gate  of  Tears.  Before  her  lay  the  Gulf 
of  Aden  and  the  Indian  Ocean.  A  silver  dawn  was 
in  the  east,  a  light  so  clear,  so  wonderful,  it  seemed 
a  promise  made  of  Heaven. 

'And  in  the  next,'  she  said,  'there  will  never  be 
a  question  of  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage.  There 
will  not  be  in  Heaven  either  woman  or  man.  Man 
cannot  enter  there,  nor  woman.  We  must  be  per- 
fect man  and  woman  in  one  soul  before  we  enter.' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  heat  had  somewhat  lessened,  the  hot  desert 
wind  had  ceased,  and  a  fresher  breeze  blew  up 
from  the  Indian  Ocean  that  lay  beyond  the  Gulf. 
But  the  sea  and  sky  were  still  the  same  hard  blue 
as  if  made  from  china,  and  the  coasts  on  either 
side  were  barren,  hot,  and  dry.  There  is  a  Gate 
of  Tears  between  sorrow  and  happiness,  but  still 
the  change  is  gradual.  You  do  not  leap  at  once 
from  one  to  other.  Their  influences  extend  beyond 
their  proper  boundaries,  and  die  but  slowly. 

Holt  sat  reading  on  the  deck.  He  read  a  legend 
of  a  garden  planted  upon  that  coast  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world.  Who  wrote  that  legend  ?  No 
one  knows.  It  comes  from  out  the  misty  past  to 
us,  and  no  one  knows  who  fashioned  it  then  in  the 
childhood  of  the  world.  He  was  some  genius,  and 
he  had  seen  truth. 

Is  that  legend  true  ?  Can  it  possibly  be  other 
than  true  ?  Could  it  have  come  to  us  through  all 
these  centuries  had  it  not  held  a  truth  that  is  eternal  ? 

187 


1 88  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

It  has  a  soul  that  lives.  Its  form  is  dead  and  of 
the  long  dead  past,  its  imagery  has  faded.  No  one 
seeks  now  with  map  in  hand  to  find  that  garden, 
and  its  name,  given  to  a  rocky  barren  headland 
on  that  coast,  is  but  a  mockery  and  a  laugh.  But 
its  truth,  its  soul  lives  on.  It  is  as  true  to-day  as 
when  it  first  arose.  For  truth  is  always  true.  New 
truths  arise  upon  the  old;  new  courses  are  added 
to  the  pyramid  that  rises  ever  to  the  heaven.  But 
the  old  truths  remain.  They  are  the  base  on  which 
the  new  truths  rest.  Did  they  crumble,  then  would 
the  new  fall  into  ruin  also. 

He  read: 

'The  Lord  God  planted  a  garden  eastward  in 
Eden;  and  there  He  put  the  man  whom  He  had 
formed.  And  out  of  the  ground  made  the  Lord 
God  to  grow  every  tree  that  is  pleasant  to  the  sight, 
and  good  for  food ;  the  tree  of  life  also,  and  the  tree 
of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil/ 

It  is  a  parable  of  life.  So  is  the  world  to  every 
man  that  is  born  into  it.  It  is  a  garden  fair  with 
fruits  and  rivers,  with  pleasures  of  all  kinds.  He 
is  the  king.  It  is  for  him  to  eat  these  fruits,  to 
drink  the  water,  to  enjoy  the  garden.  Life  is  before 
him  and  the  world;  he  will  make  the  best  of  it. 
He  eats  all  that  he  wishes.  He  does  not  care  to  eat 
the  fruit  of  the  forbidden  tree.  He  does  not  think 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  189 

of  it.  He  does  not  care  for  knowledge,  only  for  life. 
And  besides,  he  thinks  that  he  has  knowledge;  he 
gives  names  to  things,  and  that  is  knowledge.  So  it 
seems  to  him. 

Yet  he  is  lonely.  Then  he  discovers  woman. 
As  God  made  her  and  brought  her  to  Adam,  so 
does  woman  come  suddenly  into  the  life  of  man. 
Adam  and  she  are  friends,  companions.  But  love 
was  not,  nor  knowledge.  The  man,  maybe,  would 
so  continue  all  his  life.  Adam  was  content.  It 
was  not  to  him  the  serpent  spoke,  but  to  the  woman. 
It  was  not  Adam  who  felt  the  emptiness  and  igno- 
rance of  life  within  the  garden,  it  was  Eve.  He  was 
afraid,  perhaps,  of  death.  She  was  not.  She  thought 
death  would  not  come,  or  if  it  did,  the  penalty  were 
not  too  great.  She  listened  when  the  serpent  spake. 
He  said :  '  Ye  shall  not  surely  die :  for  God  doth 
know,  that  in  the  day  ye  eat  thereof,  then  your  eyes 
shall  be  opened;  and  ye  shall  be  as  gods,  knowing 
good  and  evil.'  'And  when  the  woman  saw  that  the 
tree  was  good  for  food,  and  that  it  was  pleasant  to 
the  eyes,  and  a  tree  to  be  desired  to  make  one  wise, 
she  took  of  the  fruit  thereof,  and  did  eat;  and  gave 
also  unto  her  husband  with  her,  and  he  did  eat.' 

She  asked  for  wisdom,  and  she  received  love. 
So  began  the  dawn  of  love  that  spreads  and  grows 
to  a  more  perfect  spiritual  day.  So  began  the  world 


IQO  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

to  live,  to  love,  to  hate,  to  die.  So  began  hate;  for  to 
love  the  good  is  always  to  hate  the  evil.  So  began 
death;  for  to  live  is  also  to  die. 

She  gave  to  Adam  and  he  ate. 

It  is  the  woman  always  who  holds  the  man  the 
fruit.  She  does  not  know  its  meaning,  she  does 
not  know  what  power  it  has  on  those  who  eat  it. 
She  looks  for  wisdom,  and  she  makes  the  man  seek 
wisdom  also.  They  sought  for  wisdom  with  their 
minds;  they  found  out  love  within  their  hearts. 

It  is  the  parable  of  man  and  woman.  It  is  as 
true  to-day  as  when  that  ancient  legend  first  took 
form  upon  the  lips  of  men.  It  will  be  true  as  long 
as  man  and  woman  and  the  world  endures.  'The 
woman  tempted  me,  and  I  did  eat/ 

Love  and  wisdom  are  the  same.  It  is  only  love 
that  opens  our  eyes  so  that  we  see  and  understand. 
So  began  love  within  the  garden ;  it  was  cast  outside, 
and  there  grew  greater.  The  love  of  man  to  woman, 
of  woman  to  man,  that  is  the  beginning,  that  is  the 
great  foundation  on  which  is  built  the  pyramid  that 
rises  to  the  heavens.  The  love  of  man  to  woman, 
of  woman  to  man,  the  love  of  children,  the  love  of 
country  and  humanity,  the  great  love  that  holds 
the  universe  in  one,  —  such  are  the  steps  each  built 
upon  the  other,  the  higher  resting  always  on  the  lower 
course.  We  build  upon  the  earth,  and  rise  towards 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  191 

heaven;  without  the  lower,  how  shall  we  have  the 
upper  course  ? 

That  was  the  first  truth.  For  no  one  knows 
how  many  thousand  years  the  world  lived  and 
progressed  in  that  truth  alone.  They  sowed,  out- 
side the  garden,  seeds  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil,  and  all  the  world  has  eaten  of  it. 

O 

So  every  man  who  loves  a  woman  has  been  given  of 
that  fruit,  and  every  man  who  has  acquired  wisdom  has 
done  it  through  love.  They  are  the  same  for  ever. 

But  what  of  death  ?  For  God  had  said :  '  Of 
every  tree  of  the  garden  thou  mayest  freely  eat; 
but  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 
thou  shalt  not  eat  of  it:  for  in  the  day  that  thou 
eatest  thereof,  thou  shalt  surely  die.' 

So  had  God  said,  yet  they  had  eaten.  And 
though  desire  may  quench  the  fear  of  death,  yet 
that  fear  returns,  and  every  one  must  pay  the  penalty. 
So  death  will  come. 

But  no;  there  was  another  tree.  Beside  the  tree 
of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  grew  the  tree  of 
life.  And  it  was  not  forbidden.  True,  they  had  not 
desired  it.  Not  till  the  fear  of  death  is  come  does 
the  desire  for  life  arise.  It  is  fear  that  brings  hope 
behind  it.  Adam  and  Eve  were  full  of  fear,  and  said, 
'Where  then  is  the  tree  of  life,  that  we  may  eat?' 

But  no,  not  yet.     The  time  was  not  yet  come. 


192  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'The  Lord  God  said,  Behold,  the  man  is  become 
as  one  of  us,  to  know  good  and  evil :  and  now,  lest 
he  put  forth  his  hand,  and  take  also  of  the  tree  of 
life,  and  eat,  and  live  for  ever:  therefore  the  Lord 
God  sent  him  forth  from  the  garden  of  Eden,  to  till 
the  ground  from  whence  he  was  taken.  So  He  drove 
out  the  man :  and  He  placed  at  the  east  of  the  garden 
of  Eden  cherubims,  and  a  flaming  sword  which  turned 
every  way,  to  keep  the  way  of  the  tree  of  life.' 

Not  yet,  not  yet.  They  have  one  love,  they 
must  wait  and  make  the  most  of  that;  they  must 
fear  death  until  they  learn  a  further  truth. 

And  then,  at  last,  there  came  into  the  world  One 
who  put  aside  the  flaming  sword  and  passed  into 
the  garden,  who  plucked  the  fruit  from  the  tree  of 
life  and  gave  it  to  the  world.  What  is  that  fruit  ? 
It  is  compassion,  pity.  The  fruit  is  bitter  to  the  taste. 
Yet  when  you  have  eaten  of  it  you  have  learnt  that 
which  no  love  can  teach,  that  all  the  world  is  one. 
For  love  has  hate,  but  pity  has  no  shadow. 

'I  think,'  said  Graham,  stopping  near  Holt  and 
pointing,  'that  Aden  is  over  there.  We  should  be 
in  by  three  o'clock  or  so.' 

'Yes.  That  is  what  the  Captain  said.  I  suppose 
you  will  go  ashore  ?' 

'Of  course,'  said  Graham.  'Aden  is  not  a  pleasant 
place.  It  is  a  barren  rock,  with  sand  instead  of 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  193 

grass.  It  is  a  dreary,  hot,  and  horrid  hole.  Aden ! 
I  think  that  Hell  would  be  a  better  name.  If  that 
was  once  the  garden  where  Adam  lived  with  Eve, 
it  must  have  changed  somewhat.' 

'Of  course  it  changed,'  said  Holt.  'Were  not 
Adam  and  Eve  turned  out  ?' 

'And  the  garden  was  burnt  up,'  said  Graham. 
'It  served  it  right.  It  was  a  sorry  trick  Eve  played 
on  Adam  there.  It  would  have  been  more  kind  and 
just  to  turn  Eve  out  and  leave  Adam  in  the  garden. 
But  that  is  always  the  way.  They  do  the  things,  we 
suffer  for  them.' 

Holt  laughed.  'I  daresay  Adam  would  have 
escaped  and  followed  Eve.' 

Graham  looked  at  him.  'Perhaps  he  would. 
There  is  no  end  to  the  folly  of  men  about  wome,n. 
"The  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil."  The 
good  is  little  and  is  soon  learnt,  but  the  evil  we  keep 
on  learning  all  our  lives.  That  fruit  she  gave  was 
the  dead-sea  apple,  pleasant  to  look  at,  but  in  the 
mouth  as  ashes.' 

'  If  Aden  is  so  bad,'  said  Holt,  'why  go  ashore  at  all  ?' 

'Because,'  said  Graham,  'after  this  ship  even 
Aden  will  be  an  Eden.  There  will  be  room  at 
least  to  turn  ourselves  and  stretch  and  have  some 
sense  of  freedom.  Shall  we  be  able  to  sleep  ashore  ?' 

'I  doubt  it.     Probably  we  shall  sail  at  midnight.' 


i94  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Well,'  said  Graham,  'I  want  to  sleep  ashore, 
to  have  a  bed  and  not  a  bunk,  to  have  a  room  and 
not  a  cabin,  to  have  some  air  that  does  not  smell 
of  oil  and  engines.  I  shall  take  a  bag  ashore  and 
hope  for  the  best.' 

*  It  will  be  posted  in  the  saloon  before  we  land  what 
time  we  sail.' 

'I  know  that  game,'  said  Graham.  'They  will 
say  the  ship  leaves  at  midnight.  You  come  on  board 
and  find  a  new  notice  that  you  sail  at  dawn.  At 
dawn  you  learn  that  you  will  sail  at  ten.  Finally, 
you  get  off  at  noon.'  He  nodded  sagely.  'To- 
morrow you  all  will  envy  me.' 

'You  will  be  left   behind.' 

But  Graham  only  laughed.  'Are  you  going  ashore  ?' 
he  asked. 

'I  think  so,  in  the  evening  when  it  is  cooler.' 

'To  look  for  apples?' 

'You  forget  that  it  was  Eve  who  found  the  apple 
and  not  Adam.' 

'Then  man  was  innocent.  But  nowadays  men 
look  for  apples  too,  and  find  them.  Are  the  Holmans 
going  ashore  ?' 

'I  do  not  know.  I  think  that  Holman  is,  not 
Mrs.  Holman.' 

'And  Warden?' 

'Yes.     We  go  together/ 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  195 

'Let  me  tell  you  something.  Have  an  eye  on 
Hamlet  and  Othello  if  they  should  go  ashore/ 

'Why,  what  should  they  be  up  to  ?' 

Graham  shook  his  head.  'They  are  not  friendly. 
There  is  a  bitterness  between  them.  Perhaps  the 
fruit  the  steward  gives  us  is  not  ripe,  and  sets  their 
teeth  on  edge.  They  may  have  indigestion.' 

'What  does  it  matter  if  they  have?'  asked  Holt. 
'It  does  not  kill.' 

'It  does  sometimes,'  said  Graham,  'or  makes  one 
wish  to.'  Then  he  walked  away. 

Yes,  love  means  hate  also,  and  yet  take  love  from 
out  the  world,  and  what  is  left  ?  What  is  there  left 
of  Eden  but  bare  hills  ? 

A  promontory  stretching  into  the  sea,  whose 
sides  are  rock,  whose  feet  are  yellow  sand.  There 
is  not  a  green  thing  anywhere  save  a  few  palms. 
From  sea  to  crest  is  but  a  burning  waste  of  rock, 
and  beyond  are  other  hills  as  bare,  as  barren.  The 
sun  beats  on  them  and  rebounds  from  them,  echoing 
and  re-echoing,  heat  and  light  that  burn  and  sear. 
There  is  a  carnival  of  sunlight,  for  it  has  no  enemy 
and  no  foil.  It  is  an  appropriate  end  to  that  Red 
Sea  and  outer  gulf  of  which  it  is  the  key,  a  barren 
key  to  such  a  barren  sea.  Its  bareness,  quaintness, 
its  untempered  glare  affect  one  like  a  sense  of  sin. 

The  ship  came  in  and  anchored. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

OTHELLO  rose,  and  going  to  the  entrance  of  the 
verandah  looked  into  the  street.  The  sun  was 
getting  low,  a  crimson  ball  that  hung  above  the 
hills,  the  evening  stillness  was  approaching.  Over 
the  roads  the  dust  hung  like  a  pall  that  the  sun 
turned  into  crimson,  and  the  sea  was  still.  The 
heat  seemed  worse  than  ever,  but  there  was  a  prom- 
ise that  the  day  was  nearly  done,  that  night  was 
near  with  coolness,  rest,  and  peace. 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  he  looked  back  over 
his  shoulder  to  Hamlet  sitting  all  alone.  Hamlet 
was  watching,  saw  Othello  toss  his  head  backward 
and  walk  out.  Then  Hamlet  rose  and  followed 
him. 

They  went  thus  down  the  road  towards  the  harbour, 
turned  and  made  along  the  sea  towards  the  point. 
Othello  kept  in  front  and  Hamlet  followed  at  a  dis- 
tance. The  heat  burned  them,  the  glare  enveloped 
them,  carts  came  by  and  cast  a  choking  cloud  of 
dust  upon  them,  but  they  kept  on. 

They  left  the  town  and  followed  the  sea  as  closely 

196 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  197 

as  they  could.  They  climbed  over  the  stones  and 
threaded  their  way  amid  the  rocks.  Sometimes 
they  looked  to  see  that  no  one  followed;  once  or 
twice  Othello  stopped,  looked  round,  saw  some  one, 
a  coolie  passing  or  a  boat  too  near,  and  went  on  again. 
The  sun  sank  lower. 

At  last  Othello  stopped  in  a  small  ravine.  It 
seemed  deserted.  Even  the  harbour  was  quite 
hidden,  for  they  had  turned  the  point.  Hamlet 
approached  and  they  stood  face  to  face. 

'Are  you  ready  ?' 

'Yes.' 

'Which  of  us  gives  the  word  ?' 

'I  do  not  care.  You  do  it.  We  ought  to  have 
seconds;  but  what  matter?' 

Each  drew  a  pistol  from  his  pocket.  Hamlet 
stepped  back  ten  or  twelve  paces  and  then  turned. 

They  were  about  to  fight  —  for  what  ?  Had 
you  asked  either  of  them  you  would  have  got  no 
clear  answer.  They  had  quarrelled,  they  hated 
each  other.  They  wished  to  fight  to  ease  an  over- 
charged brain,  as  a  storm-cloud  bursts  that  peace 
may  come  again. 

They  fought  about  a  girl,  the  little  Princess  ? 
Had  you  put  it  to  them  so,  they  would  have  stared 
at  you  and  wondered.  So  it  began,  no  doubt,  in 
rivalry,  but  that  was  long  ago,  or  seemed  so.  She 


198  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

had  been  kind  to  both,  she  had  encouraged  both  in 
all  innocence.  Perhaps  she  had  not  learned  to 
choose  as  women  do  in  other  countries,  but  left 
herself  to  be  the  prize  of  war  or  the  sport  of  Fate. 
Or  perhaps,  more  truly,  she  only  talked  to  them 
and  clung  to  them  because  she  felt  herself  drifting 
back  to  that  deep  sea  whence  she  had  risen. 

And  they  ?  They  had  quarrelled,  they  were 
about  to  fight.  For  what  ?  Because  they  wanted 
to.  Is  that  not  sufficient  reason  ?  And  is  there 
ever  in  this  world  a  better  ? 

They  faced  each  other.  Hamlet  counted  loudly 
and  clearly,  'One,  two,  three.'  There  were  two 
cracks,  two  bursts  of  flame.  Othello  stood  unhurt, 
and  saw  as  in  a  dream  that  Hamlet  staggered  and 
fell  down. 

Still  he  did  not  move.  The  whole  world  had 
become  unreal.  The  sunset  fading  in  the  west, 
the  shadows  that  crept  forth  from  out  the  hills, 
the  placid  sea,  the  little  stretch  of  sand,  and  Hamlet 
lying  there  were  phantoms,  dreams,  himself  a  dream 
within  them.  His  real  self,  his  thoughts,  his  will, 
his  consciousness  of  self,  where  were  they  ?  Gone 
out  of  him  as  when  a  man  is  sleeping. 

A  shout  aroused  him.  A  man  was  coming  down 
the  rocks.  'I  am  too  late/  thought  Holt;  'I  let 
them  get  away  from  me.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  199 

'Hallo!'  he  called.     'Have  you  had  an  accident?' 

As  when  a  sleeper  is  wakened  Othello's  con- 
sciousness now  came  back  with  suddenness.  It 
came  as  in  a  flood.  He  understood  at  once  all 
that  had  happened;  its  folly,  its  fatuity,  its  useless- 
ness,  and  yet  its  inevitableness  overwhelmed  him  and 
astonished  him.  Why  had  he  done  this  ?  Had  he 
done  it  ?  Was  it  he  ?  And  was  that  Hamlet  ? 

With  a  sudden  jerk  he  tossed  his  pistol  far  into 
the  sea  and  ran  to  Hamlet.  A  cold  fear  clutched 
his  heart. 

But  Holt  had  reached  Hamlet  first,  and  stooped 
down  to  see  where  he  was  wounded,  fearing  that 
he  was  dead.  To  his  surprise  he  found  Hamlet's 
eyes  wide  open,  almost  as  if  he  waked  from  sleep. 

'Where  are  you  hit?'  asked  Holt. 

Hamlet  looked  at  him  wonderingly  but  half 
understanding,  and  did  not  answer.  Holt  put 
his  arm  about  him  and  raised  him  up.  Then  was 
evident  a  mark  along  his  forehead  and  the  side  of 
his  head,  where  the  bullet  had  grazed  past.  A  few 
drops  of  blood  fell  from  it. 

'I  think,'  said  Hamlet  doubtfully,  'I  have  been 
wounded  in  the  head.  I  felt  a  pain,  and  suddenly 
turned  giddy.' 

'It  is  nothing,'  said  Holt.  'Stand  up,'  and  he 
helped  him. 


200  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

Othello  looked  at  him  dumbly. 

'You  are  all  right,'  said  Holt.  'An  awkward 
accident.  Lucky  it  is  no  worse/ 

'An  accident,'  said  Hamlet,  understanding.  'I 
shot  at  birds  —  I  slipped.' 

'Just  so,'  said  Holt  gravely;  'an  accident  that 
might  occur  to  any  one.' 

Hamlet  picked  up  his  pistol,  looked  at  it.  'A 
stupid  thing,'  he  said,  and  threw  it  in  the  sea. 

'Come,  let  us  go,'  said  Holt;  'it  is  growing  dark. 
We  must  be  getting  back.  A  pleasant  stroll  here  by 
the  sea  ? ' 

They  did  not  answer.  Othello  drew  next  to 
Hamlet  and  they  walked  together.  Holt  wondered 
should  he  separate  them.  But  no.  The  storm  had 
passed. 

They  walked  back  almost  silently.  Othello  sud- 
denly finding  his  voice  declared  that  he  was  hot, 
and  that  was  all.  They  came  down  to  the  harbour 
just  at  dark. 

'Are  you  coming  on  board?'  asked  Hamlet. 

'Not  yet,'  said  Holt;    'I  dine  ashore.     And  you?' 

They  shook  their  heads.  Holt  watched  the 
boat  put  off,  and  when  it  had  gained  a  little  distance 
he  saw  the  two  were  talking  eagerly. 

'They  are  good  friends,'  he  thought.  'And 
all  goes  well.  Love  turns  to  hate,  and  then  to  love 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  201 

again  —  another  love  —  so  all  goes  well.  But  it 
nearly  ended  ill.  I  was  too  late.' 

He  strolled  back  to  the  little  club  beside  the  har- 
bour that  offers  hospitality  to  passengers.  He 
found  no  one  there.  The  verandah  was  all  dark. 
He  sat  and  thought.  Something  had  made  his 
thoughts  go  faster  and  his  memory  keener.  'Love 
carries  hate  with  it,'  he  thought.  'It  is  its  shadow. 
Whom  shall  I  hate?'  He  laughed,  for  time  would 
show,  and  presently  he  heard  a  man  come  up  the 
steps;  he  came  into  the  verandah  and  stood  against 
a  post,  leaning  out.  His  figure  was  outlined  against 
the  glow  that  held  the  sky,  his  face  could  not  be  seen. 
But  Holt  knew  that  it  was  Warden,  and  he  remem- 
bered. 

He  rose  and  went  to  him. 

'Hullo!'   said   Warden,   wondering  who   it   was. 

'Hullo!'  said  Holt.  'I  have  remembered. 
Twenty  years  ago  and  the  corner  of  a  field  beneath 
some  trees  —  a  fight.' 

'Has  it  taken  you  all  this  time?'  said  Warden. 
'I  remembered  long  ago.' 

'  How  long  ago  ? ' 

'  Do  you  remember  the  second  night  on  board  ? 
We  had  a  talk.' 

'We  had,'  said  Holt;  'you  came  to  me.  We 
made  a  compact.  Did  you  know  then?' 


202,  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Yes,  I  knew  then.' 

'  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ? ' 

'Let  us  sit  down,'  said  Warden.  'Let  us  recall 
what  we  remember.  We  were  boys  together,  we 
were  friends,  we  quarrelled.' 

'What  did  we  quarrel  about  ?' 

'I  have  forgotten,'  said  Warden. 

'And  so  have  I,  but  I  remember  it  was  bitter/ 

'Yes,  it  was  bitter;   so  we  fought.' 

'You  won,  I  think.' 

'The  fight  was  pretty  equal,  I  should  think.  I 
know  we  neither  of  us  could  appear  at  class  for 
days.' 

'And  then  you  left.' 

'And  then  I  left.  We  had  not  made  it  up,  at  least 
openly.  We  did  not  meet  again  for  nearly  twenty 
years,  and  then  as  friends.' 

'As  friends.' 

'At  first  I  could  not  remember  any  more  than 
you  could.  It  was  the  girl's  being  there  that  re- 
called it  to  me.  You  wanted  her,  I  wanted  her. 
I  felt  beginning  to  be  angry.  The  anger  made  me 
remember.' 

'I  was  never  inclined  to  be  angry  with  you,'  said 
Holt. 

'You  had  no  reason,'  answered  Warden.  'You 
were  the  favoured  from  the  first.  I  felt  it  by  some 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  203 

instinct.  You  were  in  my  way,  not  I  in  yours. 
Within  her  heart  she  wanted  you/ 

Holt  looked  at  him.  'And  was  that  why,'  he 
asked,  'you  came  and  made  that  compact,  so  that  we 
might  keep  friends  through  all  ?  You  are  a  wiser 
man  than  I.  I  did  not  want  to  make  it.' 

Warden  laughed.  'I  wished  to  keep  friends  with 
you;  I  wished,  besides,  to  have  a  little  share  in  what 
was  going.  I  knew  that  the  girl  would  not  care  less 
for  you  because  you  did  not  take  her  whole  atten- 
tion. I  liked  to  see  her  and  to  talk  to  her.  I  even 
thought  then  that  I  might  do  more  if  she  allowed  me. 
She  did  not.' 

'And  then?'  asked  Holt. 

'I  learned  as  I  have  learned  before  that  I  am  not 
made  for  marriage.  I  am  a  soldier.  I  have  all  I 
want.  My  regiment  is  my  mistress.  And  no  man 
shall  have  two.' 

'Truly?'  asked  Holt,  trying  to  see  him  in  the 
dark. 

'Yes,  truly.' 

'You  are  a  wiser  man  than  I,'  said  Holt  again. 

'Perhaps  this  time,'  said  Warden.  'Because 
you  had  a  reason  to  be  jealous.  You  were  in  love, 
I  was  not.  I  only  thought  I  might  be,  and  was  not. 
You  thought  you  were  not  —  did  not  wish  to  be  — 
and  were.' 


204  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

There  was  a  silence. 

'And  besides,'  continued  Warden,  'you  were 
always  rather  a  dreamer,  you  know.  You  looked 
so  far  ahead,  you  used  to  see  things  out  of  sight  and 
did  not  see  those  before  your  feet  until  you  fell  over 
them.' 

Holt  pondered.  'Do  you  mean  I  am  like  that 
now  ?'  he  asked. 

And  Warden  laughed.  'Like  that  now?  Why, 
you  are  worse  than  ever.  You  will  not  stretch  your 
hand  to  take  what  is  yours  already.' 

'It  is  not  mine,'  said  Holt. 

'Fruit  must  be  picked,'  said  Warden. 

A  servant  came  in  and  lit  a  lamp.  The  light 
brought  with  it  a  return  to  outer  things  —  from 
thought  to  sight,  from  past  and  future  to  the  present. 

Holt  remembered  the  scene  he  had  been  at, 
the  almost  tragedy  upon  the  shore.  He  told  of 
it,  and  added,  'I  think  that  they  were  friends  again 
as  they  went  on  board;  but  will  they  continue  so  ?' 

'Why  not?'  asked  Warden. 

'The  little  Princess.  They  will  find  her  there, 
and  their  quarrel  will  reopen.' 

'I  think  not,'  answered  Warden.  'I  think  they 
have  forgotten  her,  or,  even  worse,  you  will  find 
they  hate  her.' 

'Why?' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  205 

But  Warden  shrugged  his  shoulders.  'How 
should  I  know  ?  It  is  so  always.  If  a  girl,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  makes  two  men  hate 
each  other,  they  will  hate  her  too.  I  don't  know 
why.  It  is  so.' 

'Perhaps,'  said  Holt,  'it  is  Nemesis/ 

'Sit  down  and  analyse  it  if  you  like,  but  that 
is  not  my  line.  I  know  the  fact.  Suppose  you 
and  I  had  quarrelled  about  the  girl  —  we  might 
have  done  so  —  we  should  have  certainly  ended  by 
quarrelling  with  her.  If  two  men  fight  a  duel  to 
get  a  woman,  does  she  ever  fall  to  either  or  to  the 
survivor  ?  Never.  They  hate  her  and  she  them. 
Women  are  not  the  reward  of  fighting;  their  bodies 
may  be,  not  their  hearts.  They  will  not  be  won  in 
such  a  manner.  Probably  that  was  the  real  reason 
that  led  me  to  suggest  our  compact.  If  we  had 
quarrelled,  neither  would  have  got  her.' 

'And  so?' 

'  So  if  you  get  her  —  and  you  will  if  you  have 
common  sense  —  you  have  to  thank  me  for  it/ 

'I  will,'  said  Holt.  He  rose  and  looked  out  into 
the  dark.  'He  is  a  wiser  man  than  I,'  he  thought; 
'a  wiser  man  than  I/ 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  Professor  left  the  ship  at  Aden.  He  was 
going  to  Mombasa,  and  would  find  a  steamer  in  a 
few  days  to  take  him  there. 

So  Holman  gave  a  dinner  at  the  hotel  to  say 
good-bye.  They  were  sorry  to  part  with  him,  to 
lose  him  from  the  ship;  they  were  sorry  to  think 
of  him,  now  growing  old,  returning  to  the  heat,  the 
banishment,  the  dangers  of  a  tropic  wilderness. 
He  should  have  been  at  home  in  some  Professor's 
chair,  in  place  of  Clearasmud,  for  instance,  instead 
of  wandering  about  alone.  But  men  must  work 
for  women;  so  it  has  been,  and  is,  and  will  be. 
Clearasmud  is  unmarried. 

They  drank  his  health,  and  sang  him  songs, 
and  when  they  left  to  go  back  to  the  steamer  he 
walked  down  to  the  harbour  with  them. 

'When  shall  we  meet  again,  Professor?  In  a  few 
years  we  shall  be  home  again.  Come  and  see  us  in 
England.' 

'Come  and  see  me  in  Germany,'  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. 'In  two  years  I  shall  be  back.' 

206 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  207 

'Come  and  see  me  in  India,  Professor,'  said 
Holt. 

The  Professor  shook  his  head.  'No,  no.  When 
I  leave  Africa  I  go  straight  home.  No  more  East 
for  me.' 

'Where  shall  we  meet?'  said  Holman.  'Who 
knows  if  we  shall  ever  meet  ?  And  perhaps  if  we 
do  meet  —  it  will  be  upon  a  battlefield.' 

'Why  not?'  asked  the  Professor.  'The  best 
friends  fight  and  then  are  friends  again.  But  will 
you  fight  ?' 

'Try  us,'  said  Warden. 

'Ah,  some  of  you,  no  doubt.  But  we  think 
your  nation  will  not  fight.  Your  men  are  become 
as  women,  and  go  about  and  beg  for  peace  because 
they  are  afraid.  Your  women  go  about  and  say 
they  are  men,  and  cry  for  a  sex  war.  A  house 
divided  against  itself  will  fall.  Our  men  are  men, 
our  women  are  women  still.' 

'There  are  men  and  women  in  England  too, 
Professor.  Make  no  mistake.' 

'Mein  Gott,  there  are!'  he  cried.  'It  is  but 
froth  that  comes  up  to  the  surface.  War  will  blow 
the  froth  away,  and  show  the  liquor  underneath  - 
the  good  red  blood.  Here's  to  our  next  meeting 
anywhere!'  He  raised  his  hand  and  gave  a  shout 
that  made  the  harbour  echo. 


208  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'Alas!'  he  said  more  sadly,  'I  am  old,  and  shall 
not  fight  again;  but  I  was  at  Sedan.' 

'Good-bye,  Professor.'  They  all  shook  hands 
with  him. 

'Good-bye,  and  go  with  God,'  he  answered. 
'Holman,  my  friend,  write  to  me  some  time,  and 
give  me  news  of  Mrs.  Holman.  Warden,  you  are 
a  soldier,  I  cannot  wish  you  better.  My  young 
friend,  Holt '  He  paused. 

'  Professor.' 

'You  are  a  dreamer.  Never  give  up  dreaming. 
Dreams  are  the  real  and  the  truest  life.  Never 
say  to  yourself,  "I  will  awaken  and  see  clearly 
and  be  master  of  my  fate."  Your  dreams  are  real 
and  your  awakening  would  be  false.  Dream  on.' 

They  stepped  on  board  the  boat,  and  left  the 
Professor  standing  on  the  beach.  He  called  to 
them  across  the  water,  'God  go  with  you.'  They 
answered.  Then  the  night  took  him  and  the  silence. 

The  steamer  sailed  at  ten.  In  half  an  hour  the 
town  had  disappeared  with  all  its  lights,  and  they 
were  out  again  into  the  open  sea.  The  harbour 
light  flashed  on  the  horizon  like  a  fading  star. 

A  woman  walked  along  the  decks.  She  stooped 
to  look  more  closely  at  each  man  as  she  went  past, 
for  the  decks  were  dimly  lit. 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  209 

She  went  down  one  side,  but  did  not  find  the 
man  she  sought.  She  crossed,  but  had  no  better 
fortune  on  the  other.  She  came  to  the  little  smok- 
ing-room and  looked  within.  Holman  and  Holt 
and  Warden  sat  and  talked  and  smoked.  She 
paused,  then  going  to  the  door  she  entered. 

'Where  is  my  husband  ?' 

Her  voice  was  sharp  and  anxious,  her  face  was 
drawn,  her  deshabille  made  her  look  older,  crosser, 
harder. 

The  men  rose  to  their  feet. 

'Is  he  not  with  you?'    answered  Holman. 

'Should  I  come  and  ask  for  him  if  he  were  in 
the  cabin  ?  No,  he  has  not  returned.  I  woke  and 
found  the  ship  was  going,  but  he  had  not  come  in. 
Has  he  come  on  board?' 

The  men  looked  at  each  other.  No  one  had 
seen  him  come  on  board,  and  they  remembered  he 
had  not  come  with  them  down  to  the  boat. 

'He  must  be  on  board,  of  course,'  said  Holman. 
They  went  to  look.  They  did  not  find;  there  was 
no  sign  of  Graham,  and  Holt  remembered  he  had 
said  he  would  sleep  ashore. 

'He  has  missed  the  ship?'  she  said,  when  she 
was  told.  'I  do  not  believe  it.  No  one  is  such  a 
fool  as  that.  He  has  stayed  behind  on  purpose  — 
and  you  know  it.' 


210  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'We  do  not  know  it,'  answered  Holman  gravely. 
'If  he  has,  it  is  not  with  our  knowledge  or  conni- 
vance.' 

She  looked  at  them  with  doubt.  'Men  always 
hold  together,'  she  muttered,  and  turned  away 
towards  the  door. 

The  Captain  stood  there  looking  in.  'Pardon, 
madam,'  he  said,  'there  is  a  letter.  A  boatman 
brought  it  just  as  we  weighed  the  anchor.  It  was 
to  me.  I  did  not  open  it  till  just  a  minute  ago. 
And  see  within.' 

He  held  a  letter  to  her.  It  was  for  her,  addressed 
in  her  husband's  hand.  She  took  it  to  the  light 
and  read  it. 

Her  face  turned  red,  then  pale,  and  as  she  looked 
up  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  would  have 
fallen,  but  Holman  took  her  arm.  He  led  her  out 
towards  her  cabin,  and  the  men,  who  had  been 
filled  with  dislike  and  amusement,  were  touched 
with  pity.  They  could  not  bear  to  see  a  woman 
weeping  so. 

'I  wonder  what  it  is,'  said  Warden. 

When  Holman  came  back  he  told  them.  'He 
has  gone,'  he  said;  'he  never  intended  to  come 
back  on  board.' 

'Where  has  he  gone  ?' 

'He   has   stayed   in   Aden,   and   will   go   to   East 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  211 

Africa  with  the  Professor.  It  appears  he  has  ar- 
ranged it  all.' 

'What  will  she  do?' 

'I  don't  know.  She  has  money  of  her  own. 
She  is  now  too  dazed  to  think.  She  never  expected 
such  a  thing/ 

'She  might  have  done,'  said  Holt.  'She  badgered 
him  sometimes  beyond  endurance.' 

'He  was  just  as  bad/  said  Warden. 

'It  is  the  best  he  could  have  done,'  said  Holman 
presently.  'He  was  never  happy  after  he  left  the 
army.' 

'She  made  him,  didn't  she?' 

'He  oughtn't  to  have  allowed  himself  to  be  made. 
There  are  times  to  give  way  and  times  not  to  give 
way,  as  Solomon  said.  That  was  a  time  not  to 
give  way/ 

'Marriage,'  said  Holt  thoughtfully,  'does  not 
turn  out  always  well/ 

'Nothing  does,'  said  Holman,  'unless  you  help 
it.  This  one  seemed  happy  enough  at  first,  till 
he  made  his  great  mistake  and  listened  to  her 
against  his  better  judgment.  After  that  all  went 
ill.  He  hated  himself  for  being  idle,  and  he  was 
fit  for  nothing  else.  She  despised  him  for  being 
idle  and  not  making  money  or  position  for  her. 
She  thought  he  might  be  anything,  but  he  had  in 


212  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

him  no  real  capacity  except  for  soldiering.  He  had 
surrendered  his  manhood  to  her.  Now  he  has  gone 
back  to  a  life  that  will  pull  him  together  once  more.' 

'I  wonder,'  said  Holt,  'if  they  will  ever  live  to- 
gether once  more  ?' 

'No  one  can  tell/ 

'They  say,'  said  Warden,  'that  marriages  are 
made  in  Heaven.  They  make  them  often  badly.' 

'Why  can't  one  know  beforehand  ?'  said  Holt. 
'Is  it  not  enough  to  love  a  woman  and  that  she 
loves  you  ?  Why  are  you  made  to  love  if  you  are 
not  meant  to  marry  ?  You  have  no  choice.  It 
makes  one  fear,  for  a  mistake  will  make  two  lives 
unhappy.  And  yet  how  can  one  tell  ?  It  is  a 
lottery.' 

'It  is  a  lottery,'  said  Warden,  'in  which  the  blanks 
are  many  and  the  prizes  few/ 

Holman  looked  up  and  laughed.  'To  hear  you 
bachelors  discourse  of  marriage,'  he  said  scorn- 
fully, 'is  to  watch  blind  men  at  search  in  a  dark 
room  for  a  black  cat  that  isn't  there.  You  talk  of 
luck  and  lotteries  as  if  it  were  all  chance.  You 
blame  the  blue,  blue  sky,  your  damned  ill-luck,  the 
woman  —  and  that  is  all  you  know/ 

'Tell  us,  then,  of  the  truth,'  said  Warden;  'you 
married  men  should  give  us  of  your  knowledge. 
You  never  do.  You  talk  of  mysteries  and  shake 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  213 

your  heads  like  augurs.  You  let  us  bachelors  drift 
into  an  unknown  sea  without  a  chart  or  even  a  word 
of  warning.  Then  if  things  go  wrong  you  blame 
us.  It  is  your  fault.  Open  our  eyes,  lighten  the 
dark  room,  disclose  the  cat,  and  coat  him  with 
luminous  paint  that  we  may  catch  him.  What  is 
marriage  ?' 

'Listen  to  me,'  said  Holman.  *  Marriage  is  not 
a  thing,  a  contract  with  fixed  terms  and  fixed  rela- 
tions. It  is  an  evolution.  It  is  a  life  that  changes 
always.  It  is  the  growth  of  two  into  one  that  always 
progresses.  You  young  men  fall  in  love  with  a  girl 
and  she  returns  it.  As  you  say,  that  is  not  your 
fault  nor  your  merit.  You  cannot  help  it,  either 
of  you.  That  is  what  is  meant  by  the  saying  that 
marriages  are  made  in  Heaven.  You  cannot  fall 
in  love  as  you  will,  nor  can  you  prevent  yourself 
doing  so.  Heaven  says  to  the  man,  "Marry  that 
girl,"  and  to  the  girl,  "Marry  that  man."  So  far 
so  good.  You  marry.  Then  it  is  your  turn  to  do 
something.  Heaven  has  given  you  a  woman  who 
may  become  a  wife;  Heaven  has  given  her  a  man 
who  may  become  a  husband;  but  you  must  help. 
Don't  think  Fate  will  do  it  all.' 

'Having  gone  so  far,'  said  Warden,  'she  might 
go  all  the  way  and  make  a  complete  business  of  it, 
I  should  think.' 


214  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'That  is  not  her  way,'  said  Holman.  'She  has 
done  enough.  Men  and  women  are  not  machines 
to  be  started  on  a  track  and  left  to  run.  Marriage 
is  perpetual  growth.  Its  beginning  is  physical,  its 
development  is  spiritual.  From  the  day  you  marry, 
the  one  decreases  and  the  other  increases,  or  should 
do  so. 

'Again,  marriage  is  a  balance.  There  is  the  man, 
the  woman,  and  together  they  make  an  unit.  But 
let  the  man  cease  to  be  a  man,  let  the  woman  cease 
to  be  a  woman,  and  the  balance  is  upset.  Then 
the  whole  suffers.  It  falls  to  pieces.  The  force 
that  holds  each  to  each  and  makes  them  one  is  the 
force  of  difference,  not  of  sameness.' 

'It  seems  most  difficult,'  said  Warden. 

'It  is,'  said  Holman.  'A  world  where  things 
were  easy  would  not  be  worth  the  living  in.' 

He  laughed  and  went  away. 

The  two  young  men  were  silent.  To  Holt  it 
seemed  that  Holman's  words  were  meant  as  warn- 
ing, that  love  was  a  sacred  fire  from  Heaven  that 
must  be  kept  alight  or  it  would  die.  To  its  fulfil- 
ment went  everything  a  man  possessed  —  his  body, 
life,  and  soul,  his  will,  his  knowledge.  Heaven 
begins,  but  will  and  knowledge  consummate. 

'Holman  has  frightened  me,'  said  Warden,  rising. 
'He  said  that  our  ideas  of  marriage  were  black  cats 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  215 

in  darkened  rooms  sought  by  blind  men,  and  the 
cats  were  not  there.  But  his  reality  is  worse.' 

'How  worse  ?'   asked  Holt.     'What  is  his  reality  ?' 

'According  to  what  he  said,  marriage  is  a  lot 
of  tigers  in  a  cage,  sought  by  two  children,  with 
every  tiger  there,'  said  Warden.  'Are  you  not 
afraid?' 

'Not  I,'  laughed  Holt. 

'Then  you  are  mad,'  said  Warden. 

'What  if  I  am?' 

'It  is  the  only  sanity,'  said  Warden,  'in  affairs 
of  love/ 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HOLT  and  the  girl  had  come  into  a  new  world. 

The  burning  air  was  gone,  the  barren  coasts, 
the  hard  and  heartless  sea;  the  strife,  the  trouble, 
and  the  restlessness.  The  skies  were  deeper, 
softer,  like  a  sea  filled  with  a  golden  tide;  the 
seas  were  like  another  firmament  beneath,  so  clear, 
so  full  of  light,  and  the  winds  blew  softly,  mur- 
muring low  of  the  home  from  whence  they  came 
—  of  mountains  covered  with  eternal  snow,  of 
forests  peopled  with  great  trees  and  creepers,  of 
plains  where  stranger  peoples  lived.  It  held  in  it 
the  warmth  of  women's  cheeks,  the  softness  of  their 
kisses,  the  laugh  of  children,  the  romance  and 
strength  of  men.  It  whispered  in  their  ears  that 
they  were  on  the  threshold  of  a  world  where  all 
was  new,  where  dreams  became  reality,  where 
space  became  infinity  and  time  drew  into  an  eter- 
nity. It  told  of  secrets  that  have  been  for  ever  and 
will  be  for  evermore.  It  seemed  to  them  both  that 
they  lived  within  a  magic  circle  where  were  they 
two  alone.  The  world  went  on  about  them  - 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  217 

there  was  the  ship,  the  other  people,  the  routine  of 
life,  but  that  was  all  unreal.  It  was  a  phantom 
world  and  the  only  realities  were  themselves.  The 
world  went  on  its  dull  routine,  it  ate  and  drank, 
and  slept  and  talked,  and  they  with  it;  but  all 
that  was  mechanical.  The  real  life  was  when  the 
two  together  sat  beside  the  rail  and  looked  into 
the  sea,  when  the  night  closed  about  them  and  the 
stars  looked  down.  Then  their  souls  came  from 
out  their  hiding-places  —  his  like  a  burning  star, 
hers  like  a  faint  reflection  on  the  snows  of  that 
which  is  to  come. 

Their  lips  said  little,  but  their  thoughts  touched, 
and  each  sought  to  draw  the  other  but  to  stand  firm 
themselves. 

'When  we  are  married,'  he  said  suddenly.  'When 
we  are  married  - 

'Why  should  I  marry  you?'   she  asked. 

'Because  I  love  you.' 

'That  might  be  a  reason  you  should  marry  me, 
but  why  should  I  marry  you  ?' 

'Because  you  love  me.' 

'Do  I,  do  I  ?     No.'     She  shook  her  head. 

'You  love  me.  You  have  loved  me  always  from 
the  time  you  saw  me  first  and  answered  me  in 
Venice.  You  have  tried  to  run  from  me,  to  find 
somewhere  a  place  to  hide  from  me,  but  there  is 


2i8  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

no  escape  from  love.  You  took  it  with  you,  and  it 
brought  you  forth  again  to  me/ 

'No,  no,  I  do  not  love  you.  I  like  to  hear  you 
talk,  and  that  is  all.  It  is  some  fate  that  draws  us 
so  together  —  only  some  fate,  or  chance,  not  love. 
I  could  not  love;  I  do  not.' 

'You  love  me  though  you  do  not  know  it.  You 
are  the  magnet  and  you  draw  me  to  you.  The 
Pole  is  still  and  white  and  silent  as  you  are,  but  it 
is  the  Pole  that  draws  the  needle,  not  the  quivering 
steel  that  draws  the  Pole.  You  draw  me  and  I 
answer.  But  it  is  your  love  that  draws  me  though 
you  know  it  not.' 

'  If  I  possessed  it  should  I  not  know  it  ?  I  do 
not  love  you,  no,  nor  have  I  wish  to  do  so.  I  should 
be  afraid.  Why  should  I  give  to  you  my  life  ?' 

'To  take  mine  in  exchange.' 

'I  do  not  want  your  life  and  I  will  keep  my  own. 
I  cannot  follow  you  to  that  strange  love-country.' 

'You  shall  not  follow  me,  but  we  will  go  there 
hand  in  hand.  I  think  that  you  will  know  that 
country  better  than  I  do.  It  is  your  country.' 

'I  do  not  know  it  nor  the  way.  I  will  not  go 
there.  Why  should  I  go,  why  should  you  go  ? 
What  should  we  find  that  we  have  not  ?' 

'A  soul.' 

'Have  you  not  now  a  soul?' 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  219 

'No!' 

'Nor  I?' 

'Nor  you,  my  lady  of  the  snows.  You  have 
no  soul.  But  together  we  shall  make  one.  Heat 
and  light  come  not  from  one,  but  two.' 

'Have  I  no  light  nor  heat?' 

'Your  lights  are  northern  lights  that  flash  at 
midnight.  They  have  no  warmth.  You  have  no 
soul.' 

'I  do  not  want  a  soul,  then,  if  I  have  not  one 
now.  I  am  quite  happy.  I  like  my  northern 
lights  and  my  fair  snows.  You  are  a  dreamer,  and 
you  talk  in  parables  and  symbols.  I  know  you  are 
the  dreamer;  your  friend  has  told  me.' 

'Those  who  are  called  the  dreamers  are  so  called 
because  they  raise  their  eyes  a  little  from  the  earth 
and  see  into  the  heavens.'  He  laughed  and  looked 
at  her.  'Lift  up  your  eyes  and  look  with  me  into 
my  dream,  that  is  not  mine  but  yours.' 

'I  am  afraid,'  she  said.  'It  is  a  dream.  Suppose 
the  dream  should  be  an  unhappy  one,  a  nightmare 
for  us,  as  it  has  been  to  others.  Is  it  not  better 
not  to  dream,  to  keep  one's  feet  on  earth  and  walk, 
than  try  to  fly  and  fail  ?' 

'We  shall  not  fail.' 

'How  can  you  tell  or  I  ?  The  road  is  strange 
that  you  would  lead  me,  and  we  do  not  know  the 


220  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

way.  We  do  not  know  where  we  should  go,  what 
we  should  seek.  You  talk  of  love.  How  do  you 
know  you  have  it  and  not  some  mirage  ?  You  talk  of 
marriage,  what  is  marriage  ?  Come,  let  us  reason.' 

He  did  not  answer.  Does  a  hungry  man  who 
sees  a  feast  before  him  listen  when  one  says  to 
him :  '  Come,  let  us  reason,  are  you  really  hungry  ? 
Is  that  the  fruit  for  eating  ?  Let  us  consider  first 
what  hunger  is  and  whether  you  are  really  hungry. 
Let  us  consider  whether  fruits  are  made  for  eating?' 
Does  he  listen  ?  Is  reason  justified  of  reason  then  ? 

She  smiled  at  him. 

'You  do  not  answer.     Have  you  then  no  words  ?' 

'I  have  no  words.  Where  are  there  any  words 
in  all  the  world  ?  How  can  I  tell  you  of  a  country 
where  I  have  not  been  ? ' 

'Many  have  been  there.  Cannot  we  learn  from 
them  ? ' 

He  laughed. 

'You  wish  to  ask  the  way?  You  think  that 
there  are  teachers  ?  There  are  the  poets.  Have 
not  all  the  great  poets  of  the  world  tried  to  make 
words  and  failed  ?  Words  are  such  weaklings, 
they  are  to  feelings  as  paper  is  to  gold.  I  might 
give  you  words  and  say  they  are  worth  this  or  that, 
but  in  themselves  they  have  no  value.  The  gold 
must  be  within  your  heart,  your  heart.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  221 

'And  there  is  none?'  she  said;  'the  treasury  is 
empty?  Is  that  what  you  would  say?' 

'That  is  what  I  would  say.  My  heart  is  full, 
and  I  must  give  you  all  it  holds.' 

'And  leave  yourself  a  beggar?' 

'So  I  wish  to  be.' 

'And  you  take  nothing  in  return?' 

'Yes,  I  will  take  you,  all  of  you.  I  want  some- 
where to  put  my  gold.  Open  your  heart  and  I 
will  fill  it.' 

'I  will  not  open  it  until  I  know  what  you  would 
put  there.  Perhaps  I  would  not  care  for  it,  and  it 
may  be  that  in  my  heart  there  is  some  treasure  too, 
that  it  is  not  empty  as  you  tell  me.  There  is  some 
gold,  and  you  would  steal  it  and  give  nothing.  So 
I  must  keep  its  doors  close  shut.' 

'You  don't  believe  me.' 

'Neither  do  I  believe  nor  disbelieve  you.  You 
say  that  you  have  love  for  me.  I  ask  you  what  is 
love;  you  cannot  tell  me.  You  say  that  you  will 
make  me  love  you,  and  again  I  ask  what  is  the  love 
that  I  must  give  you,  and  again  no  answer.  Would 
you  have  me  shut  my  eyes  and  be  quite  blind  ?' 

'I  would  not  have  you  so.  You  are  so.  But 
I  would  cure  your  blindness  —  in  marriage.' 

'And  what  is  marriage?'  she  asked,  laughing. 

'I  am  not  married.     How  can  I  say?' 


222  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'You  are  a  worthy  doctor.  You  tell  me  I  am 
blind  and  you  will  cure  me.  I  ask  you  how;  you 
answer  marriage.  I  ask  you  what  is  marriage,  and 
you  say  that  you  have  no  idea.  Is  that  the  way 
that  doctors  treat  their  patients,  with  a  prescription 
that  is  to  them  unknown  ? ' 

'It  has  cured  others.' 

'  How  do  you  know  ? ' 

'I  see  it/ 

'Maybe.  Some  like  it.  But  others  there  are  it 
poisons.  How  do  you  know  it  will  not  poison  me  ? 
I  think  your  system  is  a  kill  or  cure.  What  harm 
is  there  in  this  blindness  that  I  should  take  such 
risks  ?  Why  should  I  not  continue  blind  ?  No ! 
Let  us  consider,  if  you  wish,  what  marriage  is  before 
we  think  of  jumping  into  it/ 

'What  do  you  think  it  ought  to  be  ?' 

'I  do  not  know.  Let  us  consider  what  it  is,  next 
what  it  ought  to  be,  and  then  we  can  decide.' 

'So  be  it,'  and  he  laughed.     'Let  us  discuss.' 

'Let  us  observe,  and  then  discuss  what  we  have 
seen  —  you  the  man's  side  and  I  the  woman's  —  so 
shall  we  learn.' 

The  gods  heard  and  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ALL  the  ship  people  watched  and  understood. 
They  left  them  quite  alone.  They  saw  the  two, 
the  man  and  girl,  groping  about  as  blind  folk  do  in 
daylight,  and  quite  unconscious  that  they  were  ob- 
served. The  lovers  thought  that  no  one  saw  that 
which  no  one  could  help  seeing.  They  thought 
themselves  in  outward  semblance  just  what  they  had 
been,  that  no  one  would  guess  that  there  was  any 
change.  They  went  about  as  in  a  dream,  seeking 
often  each  other's  company  as  drawn  by  some  at- 
traction. But  often,  too,  each  sat  alone,  and  dreamed 
alone,  as  if  the  world  did  not  exist. 

She  tried  to  comprehend  what  love  and  marriage 
should  be,  asking  herself  eternal  questions.  She 
stood  as  by  a  river  flowing  past,  longing  to  step  into 
it,  yet  afraid  because  she  did  not  know  its  depths,  its 
force,  nor  whither  it  would  take  her.  She  must 
know  first  her  way. 

'Tell  me/  she  asked  him,  'have  you  discovered  ?' 

'No;'    he  shook  his  head.     'No  one  can.     And 

"3 


224  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

if  I  could  I  would  not.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  un- 
known; I  want  it;  I  am  tired  of  beaten  tracks.' 

'Yes;  you  are  reckless,  I  am  prudent.  I  have 
looked.' 

'What  have  you  found  ?' 

'I  looked  about  for  love,  and  I  found  this.  Othello 
and  Hamlet  were  in  love  with  the  Princess.  At  least 
they  thought  so,  and  they  wanted  her  to  think  so. 
Now  they  are  not  in  love  with  her,  and  hardly  speak 
to  her.' 

'That  was  not  love.' 

'Not  love!  How  should  one  know  what  is  or  is 
not  ?  She  thought  she  liked  them,  but  now  she 
never  looks  at  them. 

'That  was  not  love.  She  is  the  East,  they  are 
the  West.  You  cannot  mate  two  contradictions. 
They  saw  in  her  Romance  and  followed  her;  she 
saw  in  them  Romance  and  held  to  them.  Now 
the  West  calls  to  them,  and  her  Romance  has  gone. 
The  East  that  sparkles  in  this  sea  and  murmurs  in 
the  wind  has  claimed  her  back.  She  fears  the  West. 
That  was  not  love.  Go  on.' 

She  laughed  and  blushed  a  little.  'Then  there 
was  Captain  Warden.  He  thought  he  liked  me, 
did  he  not  ?  But  he  has  changed  his  mind.' 

'You  thought  you  liked  him,  and  you  changed 
your  mind.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  225 

She  smiled  again.  'And  such  is  love,'  she  said. 
'It  lasts  a  summer's  day  and  dies.' 

'Love  never  dies.  He  did  not  love  you,  nor  you 
him.  Go  on,  another  case.' 

'There  are  those  German  girls/ 

'You  mean  the  girls  who  are  going  out  to  marry 
men  they  have  not  seen  ?  That  is  not  love.' 

'  How  do  I  know  ?  I  have  been  told  that  marriage 
comes  from  love.  They  go  to  marry,  therefore  they 
are  in  love.' 

'That  is  quite  different.  These  girls  go  and 
marry  out  of  love  for  God  and  not  for  man,  because 
through  marriage  they  hope  to  further  what  they 
think  is  God's  religion,  just  as  your  nuns  remain 
unmarried  for  the  same  reason.' 

'Do  not  speak  of  the  nuns.  I  love  them.  But 
these  others !  It  frightens  me  to  think  such  things 
are  done  and  called  religion.' 

'And  me.  It  frightens  me  too  when  you  talk  of 
religion  and  love  in  the  same  breath.  Go  on  to 
another  case.' 

'The  only  other  case  on  board  is  you.' 

'And  you.' 

'Not  me.  You  may  leave  me  out.  Let  us  con- 
sider you.  You  tell  me  you  are  in  love?' 

'I  do.' 

'How  can  you  tell  that  it  will  last  ?' 
Q 


226  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Because  I  know  it.' 

'That  is  no  answer.  Let  it  pass.  It  makes  you 
moody,  dull,  and  solitary.  Would  love  do  that?' 

'Why,  certainly  it  would,  for  I  am  hungry  and 
athirst.  You  can't  expect  a  starving  man  to  laugh 
and  joke.' 

'  You  want  to  eat  me  ? ' 

'Yes.     I  want  to  eat  you/ 

'I  do  not  wish  to  be  a  food  to  such  a  cannibal.  I 
am  not  in  love.  I  do  not  want  at  all  to  eat  you.' 

'You  are  in  love.  If  you  were  not  you  would  not 
sit  by  me,  you  would  not  talk  to  me,  you  would  not 
look  at  me.' 

'Oh  yes,  I  would,  from  curiosity.' 

'  You  do  not  want  to  eat  me.  No  !  But  you  will 
like  being  eaten.' 

'If  wishing  to  be  eaten  is  a  sign  of  love,  I  have  it 
not.  So  much  for  love.  I  don't  think  much  of  it. 
Let  us  go  on  to  marriage.' 

'Well?' 

'What  is  your  idea  of  marriage  ?' 

'I  have  none.' 

'That  is  what  I  complain  of  in  you.  You  want 
me  to  jump  with  you  into  an  unknown  sea.  I  have 
observed  some  marriages.  There  is  that  of  the 
Grahams.' 

'That  was  no  marriage.' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  227 

'They  fought,  and  now  have  separated.* 

'That  was  no  marriage,  I  say.' 

'How  can  you  tell  what  is  and  is  not  marriage? 
If  we  married  we  might  become  as  they  are/ 

'Never.  Why  don't  you  take  a  better  case,  the 
Holmans  ?' 

'I  think  that  an  exception/ 

'We  shall  be  just  as  they  are/ 

She  laughed  again.  'How  can  you  tell?  It  is  a 
gamble.  Why  should  we  gamble  with  our  lives  and 
all  our  future  ?  Let  us  be  certain  first/ 

The  man  laughed,  but  there  was  a  bitterness  in 
it.  'I  wonder  were  you  asked  before  you  were  born 
whether  you  would  be  born  or  not,  and  if  you  an- 
swered "  Stop  !  I  must  know  just  what  my  life  is  to 
be  like  before  I  want  to  be  born." 

'I  would  have  done  so  if  I  could,  no  doubt/ 

'And  when  you  come  to  die  will  you  object  until 
you  know  what  there  is  after  death?' 

'It  would  not  be  any  use.  But  what  have  life  and 
death  to  do  with  love  and  marriage?' 

'This  only,  that  they  are  all  inevitable.  No  one 
asks  a  reason  about  being  born  or  dying,  nor  does  he 
about  love.  It  is  inevitable  if  it  is  true,  and  if  not 
true  then  not  inevitable/ 

'Then  if  that  be  true,  and  also  that  I  love  you,  I 
shall  be  made  to  marry  you/ 


228  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

'You  will.' 

'I  will  not.     I  will  use  my  judgment/ 

'And  it  says?' 

'There  is  no  hurry,  and  see  your  way  before  you 
jump.  Shall  we  be  friends  and  forget  all  this  ?' 

'I  will  not.     No.' 

'What!     Not  be  friends?' 

'Certainly  not.  Do  you  say  to  a  hungry  man, 
"You  may  not  eat  this  peach,  but  you  may  look  at 
it;  you  may  note  its  colour,  freshness,  roundness, 
and  you  may  inhale  its  perfume.  But  you  must 
not  eat."  Do  you  say  that?' 

'Why  not?' 

'Well,  if  you  do,  the  hungry  man  replies  that 
he  will  not.  He  will  go  away  from  sight  and  sound 
and  perfume.'  He  rose. 

She  looked  at  him  with  sorrow.  'And  in  two  days 
we  reach  Bombay.' 

'I  wish  it  were  to-morrow/ 

'So  to  be  rid  of  me  ?' 

'Yes/ 

She  rose.  'Good-bye,'  she  said;  'we  can  say  it 
now,  and  not  wait  till  we  arrive/ 

'Good-bye/ 

'When  you  can  tell  me  what  love  is,'  she  said, 
'return/ 

'You  ask  of  me  the  impossible/ 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  229 

'I  ask  of  you  to  make  me  understand  what  love 
and  marriage  is,  that  I  may  know  if  what  you  offer 
me  is  good.' 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence.  Then  he  went. 
*  Yet  I  will  do  the  impossible,'  he  said,  within  himself. 

'I  ask  him  for  the  impossible,'  she  thought.  'Am 
I  a  fool  ?  No ;  for  if  he  cannot  make  me  love  and 
know  it,  then  he  does  not  love  me.  I  will  not  marry 
him  unless  I  must,  and  he  must  make  me/ 

For  two  days  they  lived  apart. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

'Dm  you  know/  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'that  we 
ran  away  to  be  married  ?' 

She  laughed  and  looked  at  them.  They  sat  at 
tea  upon  the  deck  —  the  Holmans,  Warden,  Holt, 
the  girl,  the  little  Princess.  Mrs.  Graham  was  not 
with  them.  She  always  kept  apart  now  that  her 
husband  had  abandoned  her. 

'She  ran  away  with  me,'  said  Holman,  nodding. 

'You  ran  away  with  me,'  retorted  Mrs.  Holman. 
'You  put  me  in  the  dog-cart  by  main  force.' 

'You  made  me  do  it.' 

They  all  laughed. 

'I  thought,'  said  Warden,  'that  Holman  was  your 
guardian  —  your  only  guardian.' 

'So  I  was,'  said  Holman.  'She  was  my  ward  by 
law.  That  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble.  I  could 
not  get  away  from  her.  Therefore  she  ran  away 
with  me.  I  was  quite  helpless.  So  you  men,  be- 
ware !  —  never  be  guardians.' 

'But  why  run?'  asked  Warden.  'You  were 

230 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  231 

her  guardian;    could  you   not   marry  her  without 
resorting  to  such  a  terrible  expedient?' 

'She  made  me,'  answered  Holman. 

'I  didn't,'  said  Mrs.  Holman.  'He  made  me 
run  off  with  him  because  he  was  afraid.' 

'Of  whom?' 

'Of  a  woman,  of  my  schoolmistress,  of  Britannia. 
He  ran  away  from  fear  of  her.  And  he  a  soldier ! ' 

'I  think,'  said  Holt,  'that  you  should  tell  us  all, 
now  you  have  roused  our  curiosity.' 

'I  will,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'and  it  will  be  a  warn- 
ing to  both  you  girls.' 

'More  like  to  both  you  men,'  said  Holman. 

'Most  like  to  none  of  us,'  said  Warden.  'You 
cannot  hold  yourselves  up  as  awful  examples  of 
the  folly  of  mankind,  but  rather  of  its  occasional 
luck  —  astounding  luck  and  wisdom.  Come,  tell 
us  all.' 

'Who  shall  begin?'  asked  Mrs.  Holman. 

'I  will  begin,'  said  Holman.  'I  was  once  a 
subaltern,  happy,  young,  and  free,  like  many  are. 
I  had  no  relatives  except  a  cousin,  a  man  much 
older  than  myself.  I  hardly  remember  him.  He 
was  a  great  traveller  —  always  away  in  Central  Asia 
or  in  Africa.  He  had  one  daughter,  Minnie,  who 
was  brought  up  at  school.  He  died  in  some  out- 
landish part,  and  when  his  will  was  opened  it  was 


232  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

found  that  I  was  appointed  as  her  guardian.  A 
few  months  later  I  came  home  on  furlough,  and 
went  to  see  her  at  her  school.' 

'It  was  such  fun!'  said  Mrs.  Holman. 

'For  you,  no  doubt,'  said  Holman;  'but  for  me? 
Well,  it  was  different.  I  remembered  her  a  child  I 
used  to  tease  before  I  went  to  India,  and  somehow 
I  did  not  realise  she  had  grown.  I  thought  to  find 
a  child  again.  I  filled  my  pockets  with  sweets,  and 
went  all  unsuspecting  into  the  lion's  den.  First  I 
was  confronted  with  Britannia.' 

'Who  was  Britannia  ?' 

'The  schoolmistress.  She  was  tall  and  stout,  and 
very  dignified  and  proper.' 

'She  was  a  dear  at  heart,'  said  Mrs.  Holman. 

'Perhaps.  I  never  saw  her  heart,  only  her  ar- 
mour and  her  front.  What  she  expected  I  don't 
know  —  an  aged  general  or  a  colonel.  What  she 
found  was  a  subaltern  of  twenty-seven.  She  dis- 
approved profoundly;  she  was  almost  shocked.  I 
had  some  trouble  to  show  her  that  there  was  no 
mistake.  When  I  had  proved  it  to  her,  at  last  she 
sent  for  Minnie.' 

'It  seemed  a  dreadful  time  to  wait,'  said  Mrs. 
Holman.  'I  wondered  what  on  earth  you  were 
doing.' 

'I  went  towards  the  door  to  meet  the  little  girl, 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  233 

to  rumple  up  her  hair  and  kiss  her.  The  door 
opened,  and  in  walked  a  dignified  young  woman  of 
seventeen.  I  stopped.' 

'You  did  look  foolish,  Harry.  You  just  stared  at 
me/ 

'No  wonder;  I  was  embarrassed.  Any  man 
would  be.  You  weren't.' 

'No;  why  should  I  be  ?  Weren't  you  my  cousin, 
and  didn't  I  remember  you  quite  well  ?  You  were 
not  changed  at  all.' 

'You  were,  and  I  didn't  recognise  you  at  all; 
you  had  grown  up  so  much.' 

'Do  you  know,'  said  Mrs.  Holman  to  the  others, 
'that  he  never  kissed  me  at  all,  only  shook  hands 
as  if  I  were  a  stranger  ?' 

'I  did  not  dare.' 

'You  men  have  little  courage.  And  then  he 
began  talking  to  Britannia  about  —  what  do  you 
suppose  ?  About  my  lessons,  music,  and  dancing.' 

'Highly  proper  in  a  guardian,'  said  Warden 
approvingly. 

'Great  rubbish  and  impertinence  I  thought  it 
from  a  young  subaltern.  He  even  asked  if  I  had 
cooking  lessons  —  cooking  lessons,  mind  you !  What 
did  he  know  of  cooking  ?' 

'I  often  wished  I  did,'  said  Holman. 

'I  almost  hated  you,'  said  Mrs.  Holman;    'but, 


234  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

after  a  time,  Britannia  let  us  go  out  into  the  garden 
to  make  friends.' 

'She  was  mollified  by  my  behaviour/  said  Holman. 

'Mollified,  indeed!  However,  we  went  out,  and 
gradually  he  thawed  out  of  his  guardian  manners, 
which  he  only  put  on  because  he,  a  soldier,  was 
afraid  of  a  schoolmistress  and  a  little  girl.  He  got 
quite  jolly,  and  even  gave  me  the  sweets.  Then  we 
fell  in  love  with  each  other.' 

'Excuse  me/  said  Holman;  'I  did  not  fall  in  love 
with  you  for  ever  so  long  after/ 

'No  matter/  said  Mrs.  Holman  calmly.  'I  fell 
in  love  with  you.  That  was  the  main  point/ 

'You  hear,  you  bachelors/  said  Holman,  'that 
is  the  main  point.  You  think  you  go  about  and 
choose  the  girl  you  want.  Oh,  little  you  know,  little 
you  know ! ' 

'That  was  during  term  time/  said  Mrs.  Holman, 
'and  we  only  met  twice  more.  During  the  Easter 
holidays  he  came  down  again,  and  we  met  every 
day  for  ten  days.  Britannia  even  let  me  go  out 
with  him  a  few  times.  She  liked  you,  Harry, 
though  you  were  so  afraid  of  her/ 

'May  not  a  guardian  take  his  ward  out  walking?' 

'That  depends  on  the  size  and  age  of  wards  and 
guardians.  I  believe  Britannia  feared  more  the 
look  of  the  thing  and  what  people  would  say  than 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  235 

that  she  thought  it  improper  herself.  She  was  a 
good  old  thing,  though  overpowering.' 

'At  the  end  of  the  holidays  we  were  already 
engaged  in  a  sort  of  way/ 

'What  is  "a  sort  of  way"  ?'  asked  Warden  vir- 
tuously. 'A  tacit,  underhand  agreement  concealed 
from  the  authority  ?  I  am  surprised  and  pained.  A 
guardian,  too.  What  are  the  marks  of  such  an 
engagement  ?' 

'  "The  marks"  ?'  asked  Mrs.  Holman. 

'The  outward  signs  and  tokens.' 

'Why  do  you  want  to  know?' 

'All  knowledge  is  useful,'  he  replied. 

'Never  you  mind,'  she  answered.  'Go  and 
find  out  for  yourself  if  you  want  to  know.  Well, 
Harry  went  away  and  left  me,  and  I  wasn't  even 
allowed  to  write  to  him  without  Britannia  seeing 
the  letters.  School  seemed  awfully  dull.' 

'What  do  you  think  she  did?'  asked  Holman. 
'She  wrote  me  secretly  to  come  and  take  her 
away.' 

'He  was  my  guardian.  Couldn't  he  take  me  to 
another  school  if  he  thought  right  ?'  she  asked. 

'It  wasn't  that  at  all,'  said  Holman  scornfully. 

'Of  course  it  wasn't.  I  wanted  to  see  him,  and 
I  was  afraid  he  would  go  back  to  India  without 
coming  down  again.  Men  are  so  casual.  How- 


236  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

ever,  he  came  down  to  see  me.  Then  we  decided 
to  run  away.' 

'I  want  to  know,'  said  Warden  reprovingly, 
'why  you  could  not  have  behaved  properly  and 
openly  and  told  Britannia.' 

They  both  laughed.  'I  would  have  liked  to 
see  Harry  tell  Britannia  he  was  going  to  marry 
me.  She  would  have  sent  for  the  police.  Indeed 
she  would.  Harry's  being  my  guardian  would 
not  have  mattered  to  her  at  all.  She  said  no  self- 
respecting  girl  should  marry  before  twenty-three 
at  least.  She  would  have  shut  me  up  on  bread 
and  water.  We  talked  it  over  and  decided  we 
daren't  tell  her.  So  we  decided  to  run  away.' 

'You  mean  you  did,'  said  Holman. 

'I  mean  both  of  us  did;  and  oh,'  she  said,  address- 
ing the  two  girls,  '  always  be  run  away  with  if  you 
can.  Don't  make  of  love  and  marriage  a  business 
and  a  weariness,  a  formality.  It  is  romance;  then 
make  it  a  romance.  It  will  remind  you  always  that 
it  was  love  that  made  you  marry.  It  will  be  some- 
thing to  remember.  We  ran  away  one  morning 
early.  It  was  midsummer,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
on  the  garden,  the  dew  was  on  the  roses,  the  birds 
were  singing.  It  was  a  morning  made  to  run  away 
in.  I  never  shall  forget  it  —  when  I  came  out  of 
the  garden  door  into  that  bright  world  —  the  fresh- 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  237 

ness  and  the  glory  of  it  all.'  She  stopped  and  smiled. 
Her  thoughts  went  back  with  gladness  to  that  begin- 
ning of  their  married  life.  It  seemed  as  if  there 
came  from  that  dawn  a  light  that  shone  on  all  their 
days  together.  She  was  in  a  dream. 

'And  yet,'  said  Holman,  'at  the  end  you  stopped. 
You  would  not  come.  Do  you  remember  ?  I  had 
to  lift  you  up.' 

She  did  not  answer.  Yes,  she  remembered. 
He  stood  beside  the  mare's  head  and  she  ran  up 
towards  him.  Then  suddenly  she  stopped.  A 
fear  came  into  her,  an  understanding  of  what  it 
meant  that  she  was  doing,  giving  him  all  her  life. 
She  stopped  two  paces  from  him.  She  would 
have  gone  to  him  but  could  not.  She  would  have 

o 

turned  and  run  away  but  could  not.  She  stood 
and  stared  at  him. 

'Get  up,'  he  said;   'get  up  into  the  dog-cart.' 

She  did  not  move. 

'Minnie,'  he  said,  'make  haste;  we  shall  be 
seen.  Get  up.'  She  did  not  move  but  swayed  a 
little,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  fear  and  of  entreaty. 
She  could  not  come  but  he  must  take  her,  and  he 
understood.  He  left  the  horse's  head  and  went  to 
her.  He  kissed  her  and  felt  her  tremble.  Then  he 
put  his  arms  about  her  and  lifted  her  into  the  dog- 
cart. The  mare  stood  quiet,  wondering  no  doubt 


238  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

what  all  this  meant.  Perhaps  an  understanding 
was  in  her  and  she  stood  still.  Did  they  remember  ? 
Yes.  Who  would  forget  ? 

'We  drove  away,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'into  the 
most  perfect  morning  that  ever  shone.  The  lanes 
were  all  deserted.  There  was  May  yet  in  the 
hedges,  and  the  air  was  sweet  and  pure  and  full  of 
the  scent  of  hay.  We  ran  away/ 

They  ran  away  together  and  they  never  did 
come  back,  nor  did  their  going  on  together  ever 
cease.  They  would  go  on  till  dawn  and  day  was 
passed  and  night  was  come  —  together.  They 
would  go  through  the  darkness  till  they  came  to 
other  greater  dawns. 

There  was  a  silence,  for  the  charm  of  things 
untold,  yet  understood,  was  entered  into  all  who 
heard.  There  was  a  silence.  In  the  heavens  the 
mellow  light  of  afternoon  made  a  magnificence,  the 
sea  lay  in  a  drowse  of  indolence;  its  waves  were 
sighs  of  happiness  and  dreams. 

'You  had  good  fortune.  You  made  marriage  a 
romance/  said  Holt. 

'And  so  it  should  be,  so  it  is  when  love  is  in  it. 
And  for  the  rest/  she  said,  'I  think  that  love  is 
always  much  the  same.  It  has  its  ways.  I  made 
him  run  away  with  me,  and  he  ran  off  with  me 
against  my  will/ 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  239 

And  Holt  remembered  the  Professor  and  the 
book.  'Read  it  and  disbelieve,'  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. He  had  read  it;  what  had  he  to  disbelieve? 
That  love  is  all  on  one  side  —  on  the  man's;  that 
women  have  no  part,  no  choice,  but  are  unwilling 
victims  to  the  force  of  men  ?  Yes,  that  was  what 
there  was  to  disbelieve.  Men  force  women  by  their 
strength,  women  force  men  by  their  weakness. 
Which  is  most  strong,  the  weakness  or  the  strength  ? 
Man  loves  woman  and  woman  loves  man;  which  is 
the  greater  love  ?  There  is  no  lesser  nor  no  greater. 
They  are  different,  and  together  they  make  up  a 
whole.  Love  is  not  a  thing,  nor  is  it  a  quality. 
Love  is  a  relation  of  a  man  and  woman  to  each  other; 
it  is  action  and  reaction.  Man  loves  woman,  he 
would  not  have  that  love  returned  in  the  same  form 
he  gave  it.  Woman  loves  man,  she  would  not  have 
him  love  her  as  she  loves  him.  Love  is  a  question 
and  an  answer,  each  calls,  each  answers. 

'She  asks  me  "What  is  love?"  I  feel  it  and  I 
know  it;  how  can  I  make  her  know?  She  loves 
me;  did  she  not  do  so  I  could  not  love  her.  She 
loves  me  but  she  does  not  know  it.  How  can  I 
make  her  know  that  she  loves  me  ?' 

Yet  still  he  did  not  understand.  It  is  a  woman's 
privilege,  her  honour,  and  her  nature,  that  should 
be  carried  off.  The  last  move  in  the  game  is  man's, 


24o  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

and  it  is  *  check,'  nay  more  than  'check'— -it  is 
'checkmate.'  But  he  must  give  it  —  to  her  desire. 
He  must  show  his  strength.  Love  rises  to  the 
heavens  but  it  is  based  upon  the  earth,  on  deeds 
not  words. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  these  last  days  the  little  Princess  and  the  girl 
were  much  together.  Their  lovers  had  abandoned 
them,  or  they  had  sent  away  their  lovers.  Warden 
and  Holt  had  made  a  place  on  the  poop-deck  where 
they  kept  to  themselves.  Othello  and  Hamlet 
were  inseparable.  As  they  had  been  fierce 
enemies  so  now  they  were  become  fast  friends, 
while  the  bone  of  their  contention  was  forgotten. 
Perhaps  they  were  ashamed,  not  because  they  had 
fought,  but  because  of  the  futility  of  the  reason. 
For  there  are  things  to  fight  about  and  things  not 
to  fight  about;  there  are  women  who  may  be  rightly 
fought  about,  and  women  about  whom  a  man  has  no 
right  to  fight. 

To  defend  a  woman  of  one's  family,  a  wife, 
a  sister,  daughter,  a  man  should  fight  if  that  be  the 
only  way.  But  for  two  men  to  quarrel  about  a  girl 
they  think  they  love,  and  fight  for  her  possession, 
is  absurd,  even  did  her  possession  go  to  the  victor. 
To  fight  about  a  girl  that  neither  loves  is  sheerest 
folly. 

And    neither    loved    her;    they   knew    that  now. 

R  241 


242  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

Romance  had  fled.  In  Europe  the  Indian  girl 
might  be  a  princess;  she  was  unknown,  out  of  an 
unknown  world  that  held  most  wonderful  things. 
She  was  exotic,  strange,  like  some  dark  tropic  fruit. 
Here  in  the  East  her  rareness  fled.  She  was  a  sister 
or  a  cousin  of  the  dark-skinned  peoples  seen  at  Port 
Said  and  at  Aden.  She  was  a  daughter  of  the  East 
—  this  world  of  burning  suns,  of  heat,  of  thirst,  of 
weariness,  of  sand,  of  dust,  of  poverty.  This  world 
revolted  them  and  made  them  fear.  It  is  a  fear  that 
comes  to  Europeans  in  the  East,  the  fear  of  being 
swallowed  up  in  the  great  Eastern  sea.  It  is  so 
great,  so  strong,  that  to  preserve  ourselves  we  shrink 
from  it,  we  push  it  from  us,  and  we  hate  it.  Those 
who  have  conquered  hate,  have  loved  again  and 
learned  to  understand  it  —  they  are  few. 

Othello  and  Hamlet  first  were  drawn  towards 
the  Indian  girl  by  their  desire  for  newness,  for 
romance,  which  they  endowed  her  with;  they 
shrank  from  her  now,  because  instinctive  fear  of 
Eastern  things  made  them  attribute  to  her  defects 
that  she  had  not.  Therefore  they  shunned  her. 

She  hardly  noticed.  She  in  her  turn  forgot  them, 
for  the  East  had  claimed  her  back. 

'I  thought,'  she  said  one  day,  'that  I  was  happy 
when  in  Europe.  I  thought  I  liked  your  skies, 
your  cold,  your  greyness.  I  thought  I  liked  the 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  243 

strength,  the  vigour  that  it  gives.  I  got  accustomed 
to  it/ 

'And  now?'  Miss  Ormond  asked. 

'And  now  I  know  I  did  not.  I  love  this  sun, 
this  warmth,  these  airs  that  touch  me  softly  like  a 
message  from  my  home.  I  love  this  laziness,  not 
to  be  always  wanting  to  be  doing  something,  not 
to  be  restless,  active,  and  unhappy.  Life  is  "to 
be"  and  not  only  "to  do"  or  "suffer";  life  is  to 
rest,  and  feel  the  tide  of  life  pass  slowly  by;  to  float 
upon  the  surface  of  time's  tide  rocked  by  the  hours, 
which  are  its  waves.  I  am  a  lotus-eater,'  and  she 
laughed. 

'You  regret  nothing?'  asked  the  girl;  'the  civili- 
sation, the  manners,  the  luxury,  the  freedom,  the 
people.  Is  there  nothing  you  have  left  behind  that 
you  will  not  regret,  will  not  wish  to  have  brought 
with  you  ? ' 

'I  think,'  the  little  Princess  answered  reflec- 
tively, 'that  there  is  nothing.  Do  not  mistake  me. 
I  have  spent  three  fruitful  years  in  Europe;  I  have 
made  friends  whom  I  shall  always  have  in  pleasant 
remembrance;  I  have  learnt  things  which  I  shall 
not  forget.  And  do  not  think  I  do  not  admire  much 
that  I  have  seen;  that  I  do  not  acknowledge  you 
have  much  which  we  have  not.  I  found  it  hard  to 
come  away;  I  almost  thought  that  I  could  never 


244  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

again  be  happy  in  the  East.  But  now  it  is  all  dif- 
ferent. I  feel  the  East  has  come  about  me,  and  I 
love  her  as  a  child  does  her  mother.  I  may  admire 
the  West;  I  love  the  East,  my  home.  I  had  for- 
gotten her,  now  she  has  taken  me  again/ 

'I  think,'  returned  the  girl,  'I  understand,  and 
that  even  if  I  learned  to  know  your  East,  the  West 
would  still  be  home,  and  all  that  it  did  be  good.' 

'Yes;  all  that  the  East  does  is  good  to  me.  When 
I  was  in  your  West  I  doubted.  I  saw  your  women 
free,  and  with  life  open  to  them.  I  saw  the  girls 
free  to  choose  their  husbands,  free  to  take  or  to  re- 
ject. I  saw  them  marry  when  they  like,  or  not 
marry;  all  seemed  good.  I  wished  we  too  were  as 
you  are.  But  now  that  the  East  has  taken  me  again 
I  doubt.' 

'What  do  you  doubt  ?' 

'That,  taken  all  in  all,  your  customs  are  more 
happy  than  ours  are;  that  they  would  suit  us  could 
we  take  them.  You  have  your  truths,  and  we  have 
ours.  We  look  on  marriage  differently  from  you; 
our  families  are  different.  You  think  yours  better, 
we  think  ours.' 

'You  are  all  married  as  children,  aren't  you,  by 
your  parents;  you  have  no  choice,  you  cannot  know 
if  you  will  love  or  hate ;  you  cast  love  from  out  your 
lives  by  that  ? ' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  245 

'What  you  call  love  we  have  another  name  for,' 
answered  the  little  Princess.  'We  do  not  honour 
it  as  you.  We  are  afraid  of  it.  Love  is  a  storm,  a 
passion  of  the  heart,  and  it  makes  shipwrecks  oftener 
than  it  drives  into  a  harbour.  It  is  a  lightning  of 
the  sky;  it  comes  and  goes,  no  one  can  tell  from 
whence  or  where.  It  strikes  and  kills.  It  does  not 
light  nor  warm.  You  worship  love,  we  honour 
marriage/ 

'And  what  is  marriage?'  asked  the  girl.  'Is  it 
not  the  goal  of  love  ?  Is  it  not  the  end  to  which  love 
drives  ? ' 

'That  is  what  you  say;  but  we  say  that  mar- 
riage is  the  opposite  of  love,  such  love  as  that  you 
speak  of.  The  love  in  marriage  does  not  suddenly 
flash  out  and  die;  it  is  a  fire  that  is  built  upon  the 
hearth,  and  grows  by  care  and  feeding.  It  gives 
light  and  warmth;  it  does  not  sear  nor  hurt.  It  is 
the  union  of  two  hearts,  two  souls  to  gain  an  immor- 
tality. It  includes  reason,  will,  and  self-control. 
Love  is  abandonment/ 

'To  what  ?  Some  say  abandonment  to  the  will  of 
God  who  gives  it/ 

'Or  to  the  devil,  who  may  send  it  in  his  ends  ?' 

The  girl  laughed.  'And  which  is  true?  Is  love 
a  god  or  devil  ?' 

The  little  Princess  shook  her  head.     'How  should 


246  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

I  know  ?  Perhaps  it's  sometimes  the  one,  some- 
times the  other.  I  am  not  a  sage,  I  cannot  answer, 
nor  do  I  know  where  Truth  is  always.  I  tell  you 
what  we  think  of  these  things  in  India.  Maybe 
we  have  the  half  of  truth  and  you  the  other  half. 
We  mortals  never  see  truth  whole/ 

'Tell  me  your  side  of  truth  that  I  may  know  it,' 
asked  the  girl. 

The  little  Princess  smiled.  'We  are  two  girls/ 
she  said.  'We  neither  of  us  know  what  love  and 
marriage  is,  nor  can  do  till  we  love  and  marry. 
Why  do  we  talk  of  it  ?' 

'But  surely  we  can  know  something.  We  need 
not  go  all  blindly  into  the  future,  need  we  ? ' 

'We  can  know  what  others  tell  us,  that  is  all; 
whether  they  tell  us  truly  we  have  no  means  to 
judge.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  my  people  say. 
They  say  that  the  Western  people  have  no  idea 
what  marriage  is  nor  family. 

'Marriage  is  an  union,  a  growing  together.  It 
cannot  begin  too  soon.  For  man  and  woman  to  be 
one  in  thought  and  soul,  they  must  have  been  brought 
up  together  as  children;  their  minds  and  thoughts 
and  souls  must  have  developed  in  company.  A 
man  and  woman  brought  up  as  strangers  never 
learn  completely  to  pull  together,  to  think  together, 
never  learn  each  other's  powers  or  limitations,  are 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  247 

never  in  full  sympathy.  The  truest  marriage  begins 
in  infancy.' 

'But,'  said  the  girl,  'to  take  two  children  and 
marry  them  before  they  are  big  enough  to  have 
developed  their  likes  and  their  dislikes  is  to  run 
the  chance  that  they  will  grow  up  to  dislike  each 
other.' 

'It  may  happen  so  sometimes,  for  nothing  is  per- 
fect, but  it  is  not  common.  If  parents  like  each 
other,  so  will  their  children.  And  then  the  growing 
up  together  prevents  the  rise  of  differences.  They 
accept  each  other  as  husband  and  wife,  just  as  chil- 
dren accept  their  fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  sisters. 
There  is  a  warm  and  close  affection,  and  a  habit  of 
mind  quite  different  from  what  you  call  love.  It  is 
not  so  much  the  tie  of  blood  that  links  brother  to 
sister  as  a  childhood  spent  together.  So  is  it  with 
infant  marriages.' 

'But  brothers  and  sisters  often  do  not  love  each 
other.' 

'With  you  they  don't,  with  us  they  do.  There  is 
a  whole  world  between  the  family  as  you  know  it 
and  as  we  do.  We  think  that  you  have  no  idea  of 
family  or  of  married  life.  Your  sons  go  out  into  the 
world.  They  leave  their  homes,  their  parents,  with 
pleasure.  They  come  to  India,  and  perhaps  they 
never  see  their  parents  again.  They  do  not  mind. 


248  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

Your  girls  come  out  and  marry.  Their  first  idea  is 
to  get  husbands,  and  their  family  count  as  little. 

'You  marry  often  in  haste,  from  "love,"  and  then 
in  India,  at  least,  your  life  together  ceases  in  a  few 
years.  The  wives  go  home,  the  men  stay  out.  Chil- 
dren grow  up  without  their  parents.  Even  in  Eng- 
land the  boys  are  sent  to  schools,  and  so  grow  up 
away  from  their  father's  influence  and  knowledge. 
We  could  not  do  these  things.  The  family  is  to  us 
a  sacred  thing,  it  holds  together  always.  Our  wives 
so  love  their  husbands  that  they  do  not  desire  the 
outer  world  and  the  company  of  other  men  as  your 
women  do.  Their  husband  is  to  them  enough, 
through  him  they  touch  the  world.  Men  are  the 
rough  and  harsh  and  stronger  things  of  life;  women 
are  the  secret,  tender  things.  Men  are  the  rind, 
women  are  the  sweet  and  hidden  fruit  that  holds  the 
seeds.  You  think  it  is  men's  force  and  jealousy  that 
keeps  the  Indian  women  hidden,  it  is  their  own 
desire.  Our  women  used  to  burn  themselves  upon 
their  husband's  pyre.  Many  would  do  so  now  were 
it  allowed.  Our  system  has  its  faults,  it  has  its 
virtues,  so  has  yours.  Marriage  with  us  is  greater 
than  it  is  with  you.' 

*  But  it  has  no  romance.  It  kills  free-will  and 
choice.  It  makes  of  marriage  the  inevitable;  no 
one  is  master  of  his  fate.' 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  249 

'No  one  is  master  of  his  fate,  neither  with  you 
nor  us,'  replied  the  little  Princess,  'and  to  gain  one 
truth  more  fully,  you  must  sacrifice  another.  You 
cannot  have  both  sides  at  once.  I  thought  in  Europe 
that  your  side  was  better,  I  think  in  India  that  our 
side  is.  You  exalt  love,  we  marriage;  which  is  the 
greater  truth  ?' 

Which  is  the  greater  truth  ?  Both  truths  are 
true,  and  as  no  nation  can  keep  both  at  once,  is  it 
not  well  that  each  should  have  and  keep  its  own, 
else  it  might  perish  from  the  earth  ?  To  every 
individual  in  this  world,  to  every  nation,  and  to 
every  continent,  there  is  a  separate  truth,  and  all 
together  make  the  Truth  of  all  Humanity. 

Yet,  thought  the  girl,  if  that  be  true,  then  love 
is  enemy  to  marriage.  The  perfect  marriage  must 
begin  with  life,  yet  does  not  end  with  it.  The 
cult  of  love  alone  would  sometimes  render  mar- 
riage impossible.  They  are  the  opposites  of  one 
another,  the  complement.  As  North  to  South,  as 
hot  to  cold,  they  contradict,  and  yet  you  cannot 
have  a  north  without  a  south,  a  heat  without  a 
coldness.  Life  is  an  oscillation  always  between 
two  extremes,  love  which  is  free  and  marriage 
which  is  a  bond.  Marriage  is  the  death  of  love, 
and  its  denial.  It  is  love's  consummation,  and 
love  dies.  Yet  love  leads  to  marriage,  is  the  only 


250  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

road  that  is  always  true,  and  marriage  leads  to  love 
-  not  the  same  love. 

'How  shall  I  ever  know  the  truth?'  she  thought. 
'For  it  is  contradiction  upon  contradiction.' 

Out  of  her  questionings  she  came  back  to  present 
things. 

'If  that  be  so,'  she  asked,  'if  marriage  must 
begin  with  childhood  with  your  people,  what  will 
you  do?  You  are  not  married?'  She  smiled 
with  sympathy  into  the  girl's  dark  face.  'But, 
forgive  me,  I  should  not  say  such  things  nor  ask 
such  questions.' 

'I  do  not  mind,'  she  answered.  'You  ask  what 
I  shall  do  ?  I  do  not  know.  Fate  will  direct  and 
tell  me.  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  now.  It  is  too 
late.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  live  alone.  In  India  as  in 
England  unmarried  women  have  no  organisations 
of  their  own.  Fate  will  decide.' 

'Does  Fate  tell  one  true?' 

'Fate  is  the  only  Power  that  tells  the  truth  to 
us  so  that  we  understand.  Fate,  as  we  call  what 
you  call  Providence.  In  all  the  greatest  things  of 
life  it  is  the  only  guide.  Do  what  you  must.' 

'Not  what  you  wish  ?' 

'They  are  the  same.  When  Fate  resolves  that 
you  shall  do  a  thing  she  makes  you  will  it,  makes 
you  desire  it,  so  commands  your  heart  you  cannot 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  251 

help  it.  Only  your  wish  must  come  into  your  heart, 
not  head.  "The  head  denies,  the  heart  affirms." 

To  the  girl,  sitting  all  alone  at  night  looking 
across  the  sea,  it  seemed  that  she  got  always  the 
same  answer.  To  understand,  to  comprehend,  is 
never  of  the  mind.  It  is  the  function  of  the  intellect, 
of  thought,  always  to  deny,  to  sift,  to  see  the  false- 
hood and  the  foolishness  of  things.  Everything  is 
false  seen  by  the  mind,  for  to  everything  there  is  the 
false  side  and  the  true;  the  mind  sees  but  the  first. 
The  mind  will  anchor  you  in  everlasting  doubt;  and 
so  it  should  do  till  the  truth  seen  by  the  heart  grows 
strong,  so  strong  that  nothing  can  withstand  it. 
That  is  mind's  function. 

*I  asked  him  what  was  love;  he  could  not  answer 
me.  I  asked  him  what  was  marriage,  and  he  had  no 
words.  And  yet  he  loves  me  and  would  marry  me. 
He  could  not  answer,  for  these  things  are  felt  not  told. 
That  I  may  know  what  love  is,  I  must  love;  that  I 
may  know  what  marriage  is,  then  I  must  marry.' 

She  stared  across  the  dark. 

The  night  was  on  the  sea,  the  Indian  night. 
The  waves  went  past  in  rhythmic  dance,  their  crests 
flashed  fire.  The  stars  stood  forth  against  the 
sky  so  clear,  so  large,  with  such  a  brilliancy  they 
made  a  lustre  in  the  darkness,  and  it  shone  like 
some  great  dusky  pearl.  Sometimes  a  streak  of 


252  ONE   IMMORTALITY 

light  flashed  from  the  heavens  with  a  message  to 
the  earth. 

On  the  breeze  was  borne  the  faintest  odour  of 
the  land,  of  palms,  of  flowers,  of  sun-baked  plains 
and  steamy  uplands,  of  scent  and  spices  thrown 
abroad. 

The  night  was  full  of  passion.  It  called,  it 
called.  It  said:  'Be  one  with  us  and  with  all  life. 
Love  is  the  king  that  rules  the  world.  It  holds  the 
seas  together,  and  it  draws  the  rivers  to  them. 
Every  flower  and  fruit  is  born  of  love;  it  is  the  spirit 
that  goes  forth  and  lives  upon  the  world  and  makes 
it  live.  It  holds  the  rocks  together  and  the  hills; 
its  passions  move  the  winds.' 

She  heard,  she  felt,  she  understood. 

She  knew  at  last  it  is  the  mind  that  seeks,  the 
heart  that  always  finds. 

Her  heart  had  found,  and  she  would  let  it  lead 
her.  She  could  not  help  but  go  where  it  com- 
manded. So  was  the  struggle  past  and  peace  was 
come. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AND  so  they  came  to  their  last  day  on  board. 

'To-morrow  we  shall  land,'  said  Warden.  'The 
Captain  says  we  shall  sight  the  harbour  light  soon 
after  midnight,  and  be  in  at  dawn.  Our  voyage 
is  almost  over/ 

'I  did  not  think  I  should  be  sorry,*  said  Mrs. 
Holman,  'but  I  am.  Our  voyage  is  over;  by  to- 
morrow it  will  have  become  "portion  and  parcel 
of  the  dreadful  past,"  and  yet  it  will  not.  Nothing 
is  ever  really  past,  and  nothing  goes  completely 
to  the  limbo  of  forgotten  things.  We  are  made  up 
of  all  our  past,  and  take  it  with  us.  We  are  all 
summaries  of  all  that  we  have  seen  and  done  and 
felt.  The  past  is  never  passed,  the  future  never 
vacant;  for  past  and  present  and  future  are  all  one.' 

'We  may  forget,'  said  Warden,  'but  the  effect 
remains.  I  have  learnt  things.  I  may  forget  them, 
but  they  will  not  leave  me.  They  will  be  part  of 
me.' 

'As  they  are  for  us  all.  Where  will  we  all  be 
in  a  week  ?  Scattered  upon  a  continent.  I  shall 


254  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

be  sorry  to  say  good-bye.  The  nuns,  I  never 
shall  forget  them.  They  have  taught  me  things.' 

'What  things  ?' 

'Things  that  are  good  to  keep  by  one.  They 
have  made  me  to  remember  that  in  man's  world 
women  have  their  part  if  they  will  see  it.  The 
half  is  ours  if  we  will  take  it.  We  have  a  truth, 
one  of  our  own,  which  we  can  keep,  and  which 
the  world  will  be  glad  of.  But  we  forget  it.  Yet 
even  in  marriage  we  should  never  do  so.  For 
marriage  is  of  woman  and  of  man.  And  if  the 
man  forget  to  be  a  man,  the  woman  to  be  a  woman, 
marriage  is  dead.  It  takes  two  opposites  to  make 
a  whole.  Yet  we  forget,  because  we  say  that  woman 
has  no  truth  in  herself  alone.  She  must  be  part  of 
man/ 

'And  man  of  woman  ?' 

'Yes;    but  it  is  not  true/ 

'It  is  not  true,'  said  Warden.  'We  have  our 
truth  that  women  never  know/ 

'Your  truth  is  in  the  State,  ours  should  be  in 
the  Church.  The  faith  of  Christ  is  woman's  faith, 
the  love  of  Christ  is  woman's  love;  we  have  forgot 
it.  We  are  forgetting  now  that  we  are  women/ 

'And  we  ?'  asked  Warden. 

'Yours  is  the  State,  ours  is  the  Church  —  that  is 
the  Man  and  Wife  of  Nations/ 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  255 

'Truly,'  said  Warden,  'we  forget  it.  But,'  he 
continued,  'you  would  not  have  women  turn  nuns 
nowadays,  shut  themselves  up,  make  themselves 
subject  to  priests,  abjure  the  world  ? ' 

'That,'  she  replied,  'is  but  the  form,  and  the 
form  should  vary  according  to  the  time,  the  people, 
and  the  circumstances.  What  I  mean  is,  that  just 
as  men  have  other  futures  beside  marriage,  other 
ties,  other  companionship,  other  loves,  other  duties 
to  the  State,  so  should  women  have.  And  I  mean 
that  as  every  community  that  lives  together  happily 
is  cemented  by  a  love,  a  sentiment,  and  not  mere 
self-interest  —  as,  for  instance,  men  are  bound  into 
regiments  by  love  of  their  country,  which  is  a  re- 
ligion —  so  if  women  are  to  have  societies  to  culti- 
vate their  own  virtues  they  must  be  cemented  together 
by  a  sentiment.  There  are  always  more  women 
than  men,  and  they  cannot  live  alone.  In  Eastern 
countries  the  escape  is  polygamy,  which  is  their  only 
refuge.  It  is  really  a  woman's  institution,  not  a 
man's.  It  enables  her,  if  not  to  have  a  husband  to 
herself,  at  least  to  have  a  child.  In  Catholic  countries 
there  are  the  sisterhoods.  They  are  mediaeval  in 
form,  but  still  they  are  something.  Only  in  Prot- 
estant countries  there  is  nothing.  A  girl  must 
marry,  or  be  a  lonely  spinster.  A  woman  in  her- 
self is  no  one;  womanhood  of  itself  has  no  honour. 


256  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

Women  have  no  influence,  save  the  married  ones 
through  their  husbands.  Therefore  in  Catholic 
countries  women  hold,  and  have  always  held,  a 
much  stronger  position  than  in  Protestant  countries, 
because  they  knew  and  were  helped  how  to  be 
women.  And  our  future  lies  in  being  women  more 
and  more;  not  in  aping  men  far  off,  but  in  cultivating 
our  own  virtues  and  making  them  a  power  in  the 
State;  not  in  merging  ourselves  with  men,  but  in 
differentiating  ourselves.' 

'It  would  be  a  dreary  world,'  said  Warden,  'where 
women  were  all  trying  to  be  men  in  petticoats.' 

'They  have  begun  to  shed  even  the  petticoats 
now.  But  that,  of  course,  you  cannot  know.'  Then 
they  both  laughed. 

'  And  I  am  sorry,'  she  went  on,  ( to  leave  you 
all.  To-morrow  we  shall  have  parted.  You  go, 
and  Mr.  Holt,  the  little  Princess,  Mrs.  Graham. 
Who  knows  where  Mrs.  Graham  will  go,  or  whether 
she  and  her  husband  will  ever  meet  again !  Even 
Othello  and  Hamlet  I  am  sad  to  say  farewell  to.' 

'They  now  have  other  names,'  said  Warden, 
'for  they  have  ceased  to  justify  the  old  ones.  They 
make  love  no  more,  nor  are  they  jealous.' 

'What  do  you  call  them?' 

'Damon  and  Pythias,  for  they  are  inseparable. 
The  Indian  girl  no  longer  is  a  princess.  The  East 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  257 

has  robbed  her  of  her  royalty.  She  is  called 
Luxmi/ 

'And  I?' 

'You  have  not  changed,  nor  ever  will.  Holman 
is  Darby,  you  are  Joan,  to  everlasting.'  She  smiled 
at  him. 

'I  have  two  other  names/ 

'  For  whom  ? ' 

'For  Holt  and  for  the  girl.  She  is  no  more  "the 
girl"  to  me,  for  she  is  lost/ 

'What  are  they  now?' 

'Their  names  are  Salami  and  Zulamith.  You 
know  the  legend/ 

'I  have  forgotten  it/ 

'They  loved  on  earth,  but  did  not  know  they 
loved.  They  would  not  listen  to  their  hearts. 
They  thought  that  they  were  wise,  and  so  they 
lived  apart;  at  last  they  died.  Their  souls  went 
up  to  Heaven,  and  they  were  placed  with  all  the  sky 
between  them/ 

'That  was  not  happy/ 

'They  were  unhappy,  for  they  realised  at  last 
they  were  in  love,  and  each  looked  to  see  where  the 
other  was.  They  saw  each  other  with  all  the  sky 
between  them.  They  could  not  bear  it/ 

'What  did  they  do/ 

'They  built  themselves  a  bridge  of  stars  across 


258  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

the  sky,  and  met  at  last  to  make  a  burning  sun. 
The  bridge  is  still  across  the  sky.  They  call  it 
now  the  Milky  Way/ 

'I  wonder,'  said  Mrs.  Holman,  'will  they  build 
that  bridge,  or  will  they  live  as  they  are  doing  now, 
with  all  a  heaven  between  them  ?' 

'They  will  not/  said  Warden.  'They  need 
build  no  bridge.  Is  not  the  old  one  still  across 
the  sky  ?  Once  built  it  lasts  for  ever.  They  will 
find  it/ 

'Yes,  they  will/  said  Mrs.  Holman. 

That  night  they  held  a  concert  on  the  ship  to  say 
good-bye.  They  sang.  Into  their  songs  they  put 
their  sorrow;  for  all  were  sorry.  They  had  grown 
together,  all  to  like  and  know  each  other.  They 
would  part,  but  each  would  take  within  his  heart 
more  than  a  memory,  something  real  to  be  for  ever 
part  of  himself. 

The  music  passed  across  the  sea  and  mingled 
with  the  murmurs  of  the  waves. 

The  music  died  away.  They  sat  a  little  looking 
at  the  night,  and  then  the  decks  began  to  empty. 
Slowly  they  went,  till  all  were  gone  but  one.  The 
lights  went  out,  the  chairs  were  piled  upon  the  grat- 
ings. There  was  a  solitude.  The  only  sounds 
were  from  the  engines  beating  and  the  surge  of  seas 
upon  the  sides.  But  these  had  so  grown  into  the 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  259 

consciousness  that  they  were  now  unheard.  There 
seemed  an  utter  silence,  a  solitude  that  stretched  up 
to  the  stars,  that  touched  the  waves,  an  utter  lone- 
liness. 

He  looked  across  the  sea.  He  wondered  was 
there  anywhere  in  space  a  God  of  love  who  listened 
and  would  help  ?  Was  all  the  universe  abandoned 
to  the  soulless  streams  of  force  ?  Were  all  the 
gods  then  dead,  and  was  there  nowhere  any  love 
within  the  universe  ? 

'If  anywhere  there  be  a  soul,'  he  cried,  'a  Soul 
who  lives,  a  Soul  that  is  called  Love,  then  listen. 
Come  near  and  help  me.' 

There  was  no  answer. 

Yes,  there  was  a  voice,  not  from  without,  not 
from  the  stars  or  from  infinite  space.  There  was 
an  echo  in  his  heart.  It  answered :  '  I  am  here  — 
here  in  thy  heart.  What  seekest  thou  ?  My  son, 
what  seekest  thou  ? ' 

'I  look  for  words,'  he  answered. 

'What  words?' 

'To  tell  her  what  is  love  and  marriage,  so  that 
she  may  understand.' 

The  waves  that  passed  picked  up  his  answer  and 
they  laughed;  they  turned  their  heads,  they  raced, 
they  flung  it  to  the  air  in  high  derision,  rushing 
on  their  way  to  ocean  playgrounds.  The  winds 


26o  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

heard  as  they  passed  from  continent  to  continent, 
and  murmured  to  each  other  in  soft  scorn,  'He 
looks  for  words,  for  words.'  The  stars  set  in  their 
courses  winked  all  their  wicked  diamond  eyes  in 
merriment.  'For  words,  for  words.  Thou  fool,  to 
think  to  build  an  immortality  with  words  on  words  ! ' 

The  laughter  hurt  him.  *  What  then,'  he  asked, 
'  if  not  with  words  ? ' 

'With  deeds,'  it  said;  'with  deeds  upon  this  earth/ 

'Love  is  a  spirit,'  he  replied,  'and  what  have 
deeds  such  as  are  possible  to  us  to  do  with  spirits  ? 
Deeds  are  of  the  body/ 

'Love  is  a  spirit,'  was  the  answer,  'but  it  is  in- 
carnated in  flesh,  and  thou  canst  reach  it  only  by 
the  flesh.  Love  grows  to  Heaven,  but  its  roots 
are  in  the  earth.  And  dost  thou  think  to  found 
a  temple  to  a  god  on  words,  on  mind,  on  thought  ? 
Not  so/ 

'My  reason  tells  me,'  he  replied.  His  words 
died  in  the  laughter  of  an  universe.  It  rang  through 
all  the  worlds  and  beat  upon  the  bounds  of  time. 
Even  the  winds  and  echoes  laughed,  for  they  heard 
of  what  was  emptier  than  they  were. 

'Wilt  thou  then  listen,'  said  the  voice,  'to  Reason 
or  to  me  ?  What  has  Reason  told  thee  ever  ?  Did 
it  make  thee  live,  or  love,  and  can  it  save  thee  from 
the  death?' 


ONE  IMMORTALITY  261 

'Canst  thou?' 

'I  can.  For  life  and  love  are  mine;  Death  is  my 
servant/ 

'Then  speak  on;  I  listen.' 

'Rise  up.' 

He  rose.  'Go  forward,'  said  the  voice.  He 
went,  as  men  go  in  a  dream.  He  stood  by  the 
companion.  'Now  send  thy  soul  to  call  her,  for 
she  waits.' 

He  sent  his  soul  and  stood  bereft  of  life.  A 
footstep  on  the  stair,  a  white  form  rising  in  the 
dusk.  She  came,  she  came.  She  brought  his  soul 
back  to  him. 

He  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  they  passed  into 
the  shadow. 

'You  asked  me  "What  is  Love?'"  he  whispered. 
'It  is  this  and  this.  You  asked  me  "What  is  Mar- 
riage?" It  is  this.  Lip  unto  lip,  and  heart  to  heart, 
and  soul  to  soul  for  ever.' 

'Love  is  the  angel  with  the  golden  key  that  opens 
gates  of  Immortality.  His  seal  is  this.' 

They  sat  together,  and  the  sky,  the  sea,  the  night 
made  solitude  about  them.  'Why  did  you  come?' 
he  asked. 

'You  called  me/ 

'Yes,  I  called  you/ 


26z  ONE  IMMORTALITY 

'Why  did  not  you  call  before  ?  I  waited  listening, 
but  your  call  came  not.  I  would  have  come  to  you, 
but  that  you  did  not  make  me.  You  were  so  long, 
so  long.' 

'You  hid  from  me/ 

'I  was  afraid,  and  I  was  strong.  You  would 
not  have  me  listen  to  each  breath  that  calls.  I 
waited  till  you  called  so  strongly  I  must  come.' 

'You  were  afraid/ 

'I  am  not/ 

'I  called  at  last/ 

'I  made  you  call.  It  was  my  voice  within  you 
making  you  force  me/ 

'You  thought  that  you  would  lose  yourself?' 

'And  I  know  now  that  I  have  found  myself/ 

'I  thought  to  give,  yet  I  have  gained/ 

'We  both  have  gained  —  an  Immortality/ 

'Was  ever  world  so  beautiful  ?  Look  at  the 
dawn  that  silvers  in  the  east.  The  seas  grow 
purple/ 

'A  little  cloud  that  hung  all  cold  and  grey  is 
flushing  into  golden  life.  The  sun's  warm  kisses 
make  it  blush.  It  is  turned  crimson.  See  now, 
the  dark  has  gone,  the  world  is  wide,  and  it  is  ours. 
No  time  shall  make  us  old,  nor  can  death  touch  us. 
Love  grows  greater  till  it  reaches  Heaven/ 


ONE   IMMORTALITY  263 

'It  has  reached  Heaven;    in  Heaven  it  came  to 
us.' 

'High  Heaven  is  in  our  hearts  —  our  hearts.' 

'  Our  heart,  for  we  have  one.     One  life,  one  death, 
one  Immortality.' 

Then  the  sun  rose. 


BY  H.    FIELDING   HALL 

"  All  those  who  have  lived  both  in  the  East  and  the  West,  and  espe- 
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The  Soul  of  a  People  Cloth,  8vo,  $3.00  net 

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A  People  at  School  Cloth,  8vo,  $3.00  net 

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A  Remarkably  Interesting  Work  by 
EDWARD   WESTERMARCK,   PH.D. 

The  Origin  and  Development 
of  the  Moral  Ideas 

In  two  volumes.     Each,  cloth,  $3.50  net;  by  mail,  $3.75 

On  the  appearance  of  the  first  volume  of  this  work  it  was  hailed  as  "  of 
the  first  importance  whether  regarded  as  a  philosophical  treatise  on  ethics 
or  as  a  history  of  moral  institutions"  (S.  ALEXANDER  in  The  Speaker). 
The  Athenaum  described  it  as  "an  achievement  unsurpassed  in  its  own 
kind,  a  perpetual  monument  of  the  courage,  the  versatility,  and  the  amaz- 
ing industry  of  its  author."  Another  critic  calls  the  work  "  a  perfect  grave- 
yard of  the  hasty  generalizations  of  his  predecessors." 

The  first  volume  in  its  introductory  chapters  describes  the  subject-matter 
and  its  practical  usefulness;  discusses  the  emotional  origin  of  moral  judg- 
ments, the  nature  of  the  moral  emotions,  and  their  origin.  The  analysis 
of  the  principal  moral  concepts  leads  to  a  consideration  of  customs  and 
laws  as  the  expressions  of  moral  ideas.  The  whole  work  is  far  from  being 
a  theoretical  presentation;  it  is  a  patient,  thorough  investigation  of  the 
attitude  of  all  kinds  of  people,  ancient  and  modern,  barbarous  and  civil- 
ized, in  circumstances  which  throw  light  upon  the  subjects  discussed.  It 
becomes  particularly  interesting  when  the  author  arrives  at  the  results  of 
his  investigation  of  the  origin  and  history  of  specific  moral  ideas :  homi- 
cide, and  the  extent  to  which  the  idea  of  its  criminality  is  influenced  by 
distinctions  of  class  or  relationship  —  human  sacrifice  —  the  duel,  bodily 
injuries  —  charity  and  generosity,  hospitality  —  the  subjection  of  children 
and  wives  —  and  slavery  in  general. 

The  second  volume  embraces  many  subjects  of  perhaps  wider  general 
interest  than  its  predecessor.  It  reviews  the  ethical  ideas  that  have  arisen 
in  connection  with  the  right  of  property  —  the  regard  for  truth  and  good 
faith  —  the  respect  for  other  men's  honour  and  self-regarding  pride  — 
politeness  —  regard  for  other  persons'  happiness  in  general,  gratitude, 
patriotism,  and  cosmopolitanism  —  altruistic  sentiment — suicide  —  self- 
regarding  duties  and  virtues,  industry,  rest  —  restrictions  in  diet  —  cleanli- 
ness and  uncleanliness,  asceticism  in  general  —  marriage  —  celibacy — free 
love  and  adultery  —  regard  for  the  lower  animals  —  regard  for  the  dead  — 
cannibalism  —  belief  in  supernatural  beings  —  duties  to  gods  —  gods  as 
guardians  of  morality. 

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